Credence
by furiosa
Summary: — Tony insists he's fine. Steve insists he's full of shit. (two-shot, rated for language, complete)
1. (1)

**Title:** Credence

 **Summary:** Tony insists he's fine. Steve insists he's full of shit. (Two-Shot) _(Subject to change)_

 **Characters:** Steve Rogers (Captain America), Tony Stark (Iron Man)

 **Pairings:** None.

 **Warnings:** Language, some violence.

 **Time Period:** Set Post-Avengers

 **Disclaimer:** I own nothing.

 **A/N:** This story was essentially a oneshot, however, due to it's massive length, I've decided to break it into two parts. Therefore, the next chapter will be posted in a few days; the second half is already written, though does need to be revised. Enjoy.

* * *

(1)

* * *

Steve excused himself from the group with a tired but polite smile, making his way towards the bustling bar at the corner of the large room. He had been talking to that group of men for forty five minutes. _Forty five._ Not once was he given the chance to contribute to the conversation, which, he knew, was about him.

The three men he was talking to – _try as he might, he just couldn't remember any of their names_ – were disgustingly pompous. Yet, after spending about three hours at this party, he was quite accustomed to the vanity. They were the type of people that made him feel severely underdressed even though he was dressed just as formally as they were.

Their conversation began the same as every other conversation Steve had had this evening; First, they thanked him for his commendable actions during the Battle of New York, a conversation starter that everyone Steve had spoken had used. Then, they each discussed their careers – _again, Steve couldn't remember what any of them did. He wasn't even sure he was listening. Something about lobbyists?_ – and how they contributed to the reconstruction. Eventually, the conversation turned to a subtle debate of who accomplished the most and who was the most distinguished. Steve took that as his cue to leave.

Politely pushing past some extremely well-dressed people, Steve secured a seat at the bar and sat down heavily. The bartender asked him for his drink of choice, but Steve shook his head. Enhanced metabolism aside, he was tired of drinking. Without the effects of alcohol, all that the drink left was a bad taste in his mouth. Instead, he remained in his seat and simply watched the party go on.

Stark really outdid himself, Steve thought, thoroughly impressed.

Apparently, when talk was going around on where the party would be held, Stark immediately offered his family mansion, stating that it was large enough to hold a copious amount of people, and because, as Stark put it, _"might as well, seeing as I kind of wrecked every other potential option during the fight. Call it my civic duty."_ At least, that's what Steve heard second hand. He was sure Stark would have had more to say.

Stark's mansion was large enough to fit this party, and three more if the man had wanted to. The main hall was vast in size, and glamorous in sight. A large fountain in the center, tables in every corner serving only the most tasteful delicacies, and an extravagant band of more than twenty musicians playing a variety of music – jazz, rock, and a genre Steve had never heard of before but was slowly growing fond of.

Everyone who was anyone in the political and business spectrum was invited. As Steve liked to put it, the party was essentially an expensive self pat on the back to everyone who contributed to the reconstruction of New York after the battle.

The Battle of New York was a giant blow for the state, financially and politically. Federal, corporate, and private buildings were destroyed and landmarks were left in tatters. Most importantly, people – local citizens and wide-eyed tourists – were either hurt or killed. The looming question of whom to blame was left in the air, albeit quite low. The United States had to act quickly and worry about the specifics another time.

Reconstruction bills were passed, companies were hired to rebuild, foreign countries offered aid, and victim compensation funds were created.

The battle had taken about two hours to fight, but the repairs have taken six months, and are still ongoing. Steve had to admit, though, that six months of constant rebuilding really did produce results. Buildings that had fallen were now standing strong, although hollow on the inside. Streets were repaved, electricity and telephone reception have returned to the whole city, and sewers and drains were repaired and running.

Every large problem that affected the city as a whole was a priority and was dealt with immediately. Six months of hard labor later, the state of New York was finally satisfied, and decided a celebration was in order.

The sound of glass shattering erupted behind Steve, pulling him out of his reverie. He spun around quickly, eyes landing on the broken glass, and the sheepish bartender on his knees picking up remains of a glass cup.

Steve turned away, mentally shaking his head at himself. He was too tense. Too wary. This new world, this new time period, it held too many surprises and questions for his liking, making him always on his feet.

After the battle, when the wounds were licked and the thanks were accepted, the sounds of war refused leave Steve's ears when he sat in silence. He didn't know if he was hearing the war he fought at his time, or this new one. _All wars sound the same_ , he thought morbidly. _Fighting and dying fall on the same tune, regardless of time._

The people standing closest to the bar also turned their attention to the source of the sound, some disregarding it immediately, returning back to their conversations, while others stared on. Steve accidentally locked eyes with one onlooker, a small bald man with a bright blue handkerchief in his breast pocket, and Steve groaned inwardly _(and perhaps outwardly? The music was too loud for him to hear it)._

If Steve learned anything from his time at this party, it was that eye contact was akin to an invitation to talk.

Steve looked away immediately, pretending to admire the racks of bottled fine wine behind the bar, but it was too late. The deed was done. From the corner of his eye he can see the small man making his way towards him. Steve prepared himself for another mundane conversation.

"I'll be damned!" was the first thing out of the man's mouth as he took a seat besides Steve, slamming his drink on the bar stand to grab Steve's hand and shake vigorously.

"The Captain himself! Truly, _truly,_ an honor, my friend. Let me tell you, when they told me _you_ were invited to this bash, I thought to myself, ' _good luck getting him here, pal! The Captain has better things to do than intermingle with a bunch of prissy politicians.'_ But here you are! Goes to show how much I know, huh?"

The man roared out laughing, which startled Steve, but nonetheless he laughed along with him, although not as enthusiastically.

The man pulled out his blue handkerchief and wiped it across his glistening forehead. "Ah, damn, where are my manners? Too much Champagne makes a man forget himself. I swear, Stark always gets the good stuff. I'm Mitchell Johnson, friends call me Mitch."

The name sounded familiar to Steve. "As in Secretary Johnson? Of Homeland Security?"

Johnson's smile broadened, "Now, I really _am_ honored! God, Rogers, you're gonna make me blush like a school girl! Look at you, knowin' the President's cabinet already."

"Just trying to keep up with the times," Steve replied easily. When he had received his invitation to the party from Stark, the other man had warned him that there'd be a cluster of important political figures arriving. A few hours on the Internet and he had memorized the big names – the World Wide Web really was a wonder. "It'd be pretty embarrassing if Captain America didn't know who ran America."

That elicited another wave of laughter from Johnson. "Of course, of course! That must be some eye-opener, huh? Waking up in whole new age. Must have thrown you in some loop."

"I'm getting there, step by step," Steve responded casually. Another conversation starter he'd been seeing plenty of lately: the ' _how are you adjusting?'_ question. Steve couldn't fault them on their curiosity, as long as they didn't treat him as some sort of caveman from the Stone Age. He suffered enough of that from Stark. "It's the technology that's really caught me off guard. Everything has buttons – _too many_ buttons, if you ask me."

The other man laughed, and it didn't take a genius to figure out how drunk he was. The drink in his hand spilled a few drops as his body shook with laughter. "I've been using all this new technology for only a few years, and I still don't know how any of it works. But computers and all that aside, how are you likin' this New York? Big difference compared to the New York from the '40s, I'm sure."

"Expensive is the first word I can think of," Steve said. "It's louder and brighter, too, but, it's still New York. One thing I do like the most that stands out — the subway."

"No kidding."

He shrugged. "It's fast, cheap, and takes me all over the city. And the entertainment is nice, you know, the people that dance and sing in the train. I like it. I was a little disappointed that they raised the fare, but that was inevitable."

"You know," Johnson began. "I've been alive for a very long time, and believe me when I say this: you are the first person I've ever met that has actually _liked_ the subways."

This time, Steve laughed. "I'm serious, I love it. It was a shame that most of them were damaged during the fight." Steve paused, pursing his lips, and then said, "It's a shame about all the damage. Looking back, maybe if I had taken into consideration all the collateral damage I might cause when I was fighting…"

"I don't think anyone can fault you on that, my boy," Johnson said, taking a swing from his drink. He shifted in his seat, moving closer to Steve. "Not with everything you've done for us, past and present. You've been the best help we could have asked for. I've seen the videos — no, not your old ones, the ones from the battle."

Johnson moved even closer now, their foreheads inches away from touching. Alcohol was radiating off the smaller man, and Steve suppressed the urge to grimace from the stench.

Johnson spoke quietly, but loud enough that he wasn't drowned out by the music, "I had some camera phone videos from people on the streets and building security tapes sent over to me. You fought like…like — I wanna say a true _soldier,_ but I'm sure you've heard that a million times. Screw it, I'll make it a million and one times! You fought like a true soldier, Rogers."

"Thank you, sir. I appreciate that."

Steve hoped his formal tone was an obvious indication that he was finished with the conversation. Steve didn't want to be rude, he had manners, but this conversation was beginning to steer off into a different direction now that the pleasantries were done with. Johnson was beginning to slur his words, and his face was horribly flushed. This conversation could go on for hours if Steve couldn't get away.

But Johnson showed no sign of noticing Steve's reluctances to continue. "Not just you, too — there were the others fighting with you. Stark, Banner, the Widow, and — shit, I always forget his name. . .you know, the archer?"

"Barton."

"Right, Barton. I work pretty closely with S.H.I.E.L.D, you see, so I know a thing or two about you lot, but names escape me sometimes. Don't tell Barton that I forgot his name, he'd nail me to a board in a flash!"

Steve smiled when Johnson laughed. "I'm sure he won't mind. Secrecy and discreteness come with the job."

"Yes, yes, secret agents and their spy games," Johnson made a motion with his hand, but it was clumsy, making it look like his wrist was twitching. "But, see here, being secretary of Homeland Security makes me wary of secrets. I told Coulson this, too, rest his soul. I told him, why all the secrets from us? The government? S.H.I.E.L.D likes to operate on its own, it and its agents, but I don't."

He wiped his forehead with his handkerchief again. "See, I'm drafting this bill. Well, not me exactly. Got some senators and lawmakers doing it for me. It's good to have friends on the inside, eh? They — they're drafting this bill, see —"

"To be honest," Steve interrupted quickly. "I try not to get involved with politics too much. I don't really understand the inner workings, and. . .well, If I get involved with one party's beliefs, it might cause unwanted commotion, putting me in a tight spot. You understand?"

"Yes, of course, but listen, listen," Johnson said impatiently. "It's nothing too complicated. It's actually beneficial to you and your vigilante lot. Nothing complicated, a registration act of sorts. . ."

"Sir," Steve began. "I really don't. . ."

"Mitchy!" A voice sang behind Steve, and Steve didn't know whether to be relieved or to grimace at the familiarity of the voice.

Johnson picked up his head and looked past Steve. "Stark," he grumbled.

"Hello, beautiful," Stark, adorned in a suit and tie, strode over to the bar with a grin that was almost primal. He clapped a hand on Steve's shoulder, but directed his words to Johnson. "Thought I'd find you by the bar. You never could stay away from that Chardonnay, can you, buddy? Speaking of," He turned to the bartender. "Butterfingers. Yeah, you. Let me get the peach one."

"Stark," Johnson said again, sitting up. "I thought you were in Malibu."

"I was, but, get this — and you wouldn't _believe_ it — they invented this thing called _planes_ , and wouldn't you know it, these things can take you across the country in hours! Amazing, right? Technology has taken us so far."

"Funny," Johnson grumbled without mirth.

The bartender placed Stark's drink on the table and Tony grabbed it with one hand, the other patted Steve on the shoulder again. "Always am. Anyway, you've hogged our patriotic hero long enough; I think it's time to share. Let's go, Cap, I got some people for you to meet."

Steve didn't even hesitate to get up. Johnson stood up too, "Now, hold on, Stark. Rogers and I were speaking —"

"And I'm sure it was a _fascinating_ conversation," Tony interrupted. "But — my house, my rules, my guests." He flashed him an arrogant smile, and turned with Steve in tow.

Hand on Steve's shoulder, Tony guided him to the other side of the massive room. When they were far enough from Johnson, Tony removed his hand to shove in his pocket and said, "You owe me one, Rogers. That guy is just," Stark made a face, then took a swing from his drink. "Yeah, a complete chatterbox. Had his position for, like, a year, and already he thinks he can make decisions. I definitely saved your ass there from the world's most boring conversation ever, you owe me _big._ I'm thinking, let me have your shield for week and we'll call it even."

Steve chuckled. "Did you just get here? I haven't seen you all night."

Actually, Steve hadn't seen him since they all went their separate ways after seeing off Thor. Last he heard, Stark was taking residence in his Malibu home, since the Stark Tower was under construction to repair the damage it sustained from the battle. Stark had called him to extend the invitation for the party, but that phone call only lasted a few minutes.

"Nope, been here all day and night. Like I said, flew in from Malibu."

"You came all the way from Malibu to New York just for a party?"

Stark took another sip of his drink. "Steve, Steve, Steve," he said, shaking his head. "So young, so naïve."

"I'm older than you."

"Only in body, not in mind." Stark placed his drink on a passing staff's tray when she walked past the two. He rubbed his hands together, then waved them in front of him, saying, "Look around you, Cap. What do you see?"

"Obnoxiously rich people?"

Stark ignored that. "I've got senators, ministers, CEOs, lawmakers, — you name it. All of them, in my house. Do you know how many favors I can get out of them? Deals I can make? Connections I can connect?"

"Connections you can connect?"

"Shut it, you know what I mean." He pushed his hands into his pockets. "See, I've got Pepper over in Shanghai doing the by-the-books, professional, CEO-type business, while I'm here, doing the more fun, casual, alcohol fueled CEO-type business stuff. It's a win-win. Jackpot. The whole shebang."

Steve looked back, and nodded towards the bar. "Is that why you invited Johnson? To _connect some connections_."

Tony's face pinched with a grimace. "God, no. That man's as delusional as delusional gets. I wouldn't invite him even if it would guarantee me a working heart," he said, tapping his chest, where his arc reactor lay. "And anyway, I didn't make the guest list; I didn't invite anyone."

Steve's brow furrowed. "You didn't? But it's at your house…"

Tony rolled his eyes, "Come on, Uncle Sam, keep up. I'm just providing the party with a location. This whole thing is a government function. I'm just giving them somewhere to put it."

"Who invited everyone, then?"

"The President — or his secretary or something. Though it's definitely someone working under him. He told me that almost every person he invited came, which is pretty impressive considering his poll numbers. Poor guy. Can't catch a break."

"The President's _here_?" Steve exclaimed, looking around.

Tony laughed, "You've been in the same house as the President and you didn't even notice? Steve, that's embarrassing."

"It's a pretty big house, Stark!"

"Damn right it is," Tony replied. "He's been asking about you, too. He's a pretty big fan of your's. Has all your comics in mahogany frames, hanging on top of his bed. I think he took it personally that you never came over and said hi. Looked pretty offended. Said he was gonna demote you to Lieutenant America."

"You're an ass."

"That's no way to talk to a superior officer, Lieutenant," Tony grunted in a mock drill sergeant voice. His head picked up when they closed in near a group of men that looked towards them expectantly. "Don't worry about the ol' Commander in Chief, Cap. You have all night to find him. I've got some people for you to meet now. Boys!"

They stopped in front of three men, and Stark began rapid introductions. They were three brothers, Steve surmised from their shared family name of Litmean. They operated a large textile company in North Carolina and had contributed a huge amount help during the rebuilding of New York. That was all Steve managed to gather before he zoned out of the conversation.

Steve immediately figured that this meeting was more for Stark's benefit rather than his own. The man looked like he was showing off his new toy to the impressed children of the playground. The men all looked at Steve like he was something out of a dream.

It struck Steve suddenly that perhaps Tony was using him to make himself appear more appealing. Tony Stark was a pretty infamous name, with an even more infamous reputation. From what Steve had gathered from the files given to him by S.H.I.E.L.D, Stark was a business _shark_ — devouring the business world and leaving a wreckage in his wake. He was a formidable CEO, and his company was one that people either deeply despised or deeply (albeit begrudgingly) admired.

This Litmean trio might be the former, Steve guessed. Tony must have been trying to strike a deal with them and had reached some sort of standstill, and this was his 'Plan B': introduce them to Captain America, show them that if _the_ Captain America can tolerate him, then he must be a trustworthy guy to do business with. He supposed this was one of the obligations of being teammates with Stark; putting up with his shit.

If that were the case, Steve decided right then that business and politics were definitely something he did not want to get wrangled in. Too much deception for his liking.

"The actual Captain America," one of the men breathed, completely in awe. He was shorter than the other two, and had a distracting mole on the tip of his nose. His staring was something Steve was used to, but it still made him uncomfortable.

"Shit, man, you're hell of a lot bigger than I thought," the other laughed, the gap between his two front teeth showing. "Shi — wait, can I even curse in front you? Feels like it could be a federal crime."

The third man hailed one of the members of the staff with a finger, "Bring some drinks over here!" His voice had a booming force behind it, and the staff member responded immediately. Drinks were passed around, and Steve reluctantly took the one offered to him, while the men resumed their loud, one-sided conversation.

Steve didn't say much. This was quite standard with him, at this point. The people in this room really loved the sound of their own voices, and were able to talk on and on about anything for any duration of time. It was exhausting to listen to. Stark, on the other hand, was eating it up. Eccentrically, with a lot of hand waving, Stark began steering the conversation in his direction.

Steve tuned out the exchange, choosing instead to stare at the artwork that hung on the wall in front of him. It was a painting of nothing in particular. Just a large canvas with splashes of elegant colors. No shapes or patterns. It was as if a person holding buckets of paint had tripped and spilled all the contents on the canvas and decided it was a masterpiece. For some reason, it reminded Steve of Howard. Probably because the painting made no sense.

Stark must have said something funny, because laughter erupted from the men. Steve laughed along with them to keep up the show that he was following their conversation.

Tony's arm wrapped Steve's shoulders, pulling the other man close. The motion jerked Steve, causing his drinking to tip from his grip, and the contents landed on Tony's shirt.

Tony jumped back. "Christ Steve," he exclaimed, looking down at his soaked shirt.

"Sorry, I —" Steve began, but Stark cut him off with a laugh.

"First the bartender, now you? Does no one here know how to hold a drink properly?"

"Your fault, Stark," one of the Litmean brothers quipped with a smirk. "No one told you had to buy such good liquor."

"You're right, I spoil you guys too much. Next party, everyone's drinking Bud Light."

"Now you're just being cruel," the man laughed.

Steve grimaced at the state of Stark's ruined shirt. "Really, Tony. I'm sorry, I didn't mean —"

"Forget it, Steve-O," he said, cutting him off again with a wave of his hand. "No one can fault you for losing your grip. I've got other shirts." He wiped his hand down his shirt and clicked his tongue. "Well, air isn't going to get this out. If you'll excuse me, boys."

Tony squeezed past the Litmean brothers and headed towards the door that led to hall. Once he left, the three brothers shared a knowing look. Steve felt like he was missing something.

"Typical Stark," one of the men chuckled, shaking his head.

Steve frowned, "What do you mean?"

"Oh, come on, Captain. Wasn't it obvious?"

When Steve didn't answer, the man continued, "He was making a getaway. Obviously, he didn't like where this conversation was going."

"Thought he wanted this deal," the other said.

"Apparently we aren't good enough for the great Tony Stark."

"The man does have some serious trust issues."

"Too bad. For a second there I thought we were about to shake hands and close the deal."

"Wait, no," Steve interrupted with a frown. "Stark would have just flat out refused you if that were the case. He wouldn't have made a whole show of it."

The man shrugged. "Who knows how Stark operates."

"He was always a bit on the dramatic side," the other said.

"A bit?" the third laughed. "Andy, the man came out of the womb with a top hat and cane."

The three brothers laughed at that. Steve remained silent. Any other time he would have found the joke amusing, but he wasn't in the laughing mood at the moment. Something wasn't right.

It was true that he hadn't spent enough time with Stark to say that he really knew the man, but he liked to think he had some idea on how his teammate conducted himself.

To abruptly leave in the middle of a conversation was not like Stark, especially in the matter on how he did it.

Steve looked down at the drink in his hand. Tony had wrapped his arm around his shoulder and pulled him, which was not unlike him. Stark had absolutely no regards for other people's personal space, Steve knew this, so it's never surprising to have him poking, patting, or grabbing other people. But, in this case, the way Tony pulled him, it was almost like he was _deliberately_ trying to move Steve so that the drink would spill on him.

 _But that makes no sense,_ Steve thought. _You're overthinking a simple accident. You're blowing it out of proportion._ Still, an uneasy feeling was blossoming in the pit of his stomach.

"Sorry, you'll have to excuse me for a minute," Steve told the three men, stepping away before he could hear any of them reply. He walked towards the door Tony had went through, away from all the people and the jubilance.

He found himself standing in a wide hallway, grand doors aligned on each side of the wall. It was empty, no sign of Stark. The only sound he heard was the murmurs of the party behind him.

It occurred Steve that he had no idea where he was going.

 _Bathroom,_ he thought. _Stark would have went to the bathroom to wash his shirt._ But where was the bathroom? Steve looked around. This house was unnecessarily _colossal._ He looked at the doors in the hallway, then at the stairs that led to another hall, with _more_ doors. _You've got to be kidding, Stark._

He could just search every door and see where each one led, hopefully finding the bathroom, but Steve was tired. Serum or not, he didn't have the energy for something so tedious.

Instead, he walked back to the party, asked one of the staff where the bathroom was — " _oh, there's a pretty big one down the hall, with stalls and everything. Fourth door, I think. They aren't private, so don't be shy if the door's closed, hon_." — and followed the directions.

He walked down the hall, found the fourth door, and pushed it open.

Like everything else in the Stark Mansion, the bathroom was massive and elegant. Marble tiles, deep red walls, rows of stalls on one wall, and a wide sink with rows of faucets on the other side.

Stark was standing over the sink, hands on either side of it, back hunched somewhat. His jacket and tie were disregarded, hanging over one of the stall doors, leaving him with just his white dress shirt. His arc reactor glowed underneath it, and the stain of the spilled drink was still present.

Stark looked up when he heard the door open. "Hm, thought I locked it," he murmured. Then, louder, "What's up, Cap? Bored from the Litmean brothers already? I don't blame you, they can get pretty annoying pretty quick."

Steve stared. Tony looked. . .very different than he did a few minutes ago. His face was ashen, all color lost from it, and his eyes were glassy and glistening. The uneasy feeling in his stomach grew. "Are. . .are you alright?"

Stark held himself upright, running a hand over the front of his shirt. "Of course. Why wouldn't I be?"

"You don't look alright."

Stark grinned. "Aw, Cap, I'm touched," he crooned, placing a hand over his chest. "Your concern over me truly warms my heart."

"I'm serious, Tony." Steve deadpanned. "You're white as a sheet."

"I'm serious, too. Look, I'm fine." He gestured to himself, grin still present. _Is this the smile that Clint calls Stark's 'Shit-Eating Grin'?_ Steve wondered. _The name fits_.

"That doesn't look fine to me. That looks like the opposite of fine."

Stark turned around, facing the mirror. Steve could see a trickle of sweat running down the other man's neck. He frowned but said nothing.

"I didn't know the title of Captain America also came with a medical degree, _Doctor_ Captain America," Stark muttered.

"You do know that the more you deflect, the more my suspicion grows."

Tony rolled his eyes. He brought up his hands and fixed his collar while avoiding Steve's eyes, instead, staring ahead at the mirror. "You're hot on my case, aren't you, _Detective_ Doctor Captain America."

Steve ignored his quips, and instead narrowed his eyes. When Steve remained silent, Tony glanced his way. When their eyes met, Steve knew he won.

Tony flung his hands in the air in exasperation. " _Fine,_ God. Anyone ever tell you you've got a glare capable of melting the arctic? That's probably how you got out of the ice, just _glared_ at it for seventy years."

"Tony. . ."

"Look," This time, Tony bodily turned towards Steve, shoes clicking on the marble floors loudly. "It's nothing. I just threw up, alright? No biggie."

Steve blinked. Stark had said it so bluntly that it caught him off guard. ". . .Threw up?"

"Yeah, you know, threw up. Vomit. Puke. Regurgitated -"

"I know what throwing up is, Tony. _Why_ did you throw up is what I'm wondering. Are you sick?"

Tony raised both hands in a placating manner. "Take it easy there, Detective Doctor Captain America," he said, "It's nothing to worry about. Just had a little too much to drink, that's all."

Not even the super soldier serum would be able to fix the wrinkles Steve was bound to get from frowning as much as he was right this minute. "You," he said slowly, enunciating every word clearly in case he heard incorrectly. "Couldn't hold your liquor? . . . _You_?"

"It happens to even the best of us."

Steve continued staring. "Out of all the lies you could have thrown at me," Steve began. " _That_ was the best you could do? _That?_ "

Tony opened his mouth, ready to counter, but he paused. He closed his mouth and pursed his lips together into a fine line. A few seconds passed, then he said, ". . .shit, yeah, that wasn't one of my best. I could have done better there."

Steve shook his head, saying firmly, "Tony, honestly, no more games. What's wrong? Are you hurt?"

Stark ran a hand through his hair, sighing loudly. "Christ," he muttered, dropping his hand back to his side. "Christ, Ok. Alright, but you gotta promise you won't freak out."

Steve blinked. "Freak out — _Why_ would I freak out? Did something happen?"

Tony jabbed a finger his way, "Ah! See — that right there? Freaking out. And what did I just tell you not to do? Freak out. I don't want any of that, alright? Promise."

"Alright."

Stark raised his eyebrows.

" _Fine_ , I promise."

"Ok," Stark said, scratching behind his ear. He sighed, looking everywhere but Steve's eyes, then pursed his lips. "Nothing serious, it's just that. . . I'm a little nauseous. . .because my reactor is a kind of faulty."

"Faulty?" Steve repeated. Then, a thought occurred to him and he balked, "Is it because of the drink I spilt? Tony, I —"

"What, _no_!" Tony exclaimed almost immediately. "This has nothing to do with that. And frankly, I'm a little offended you would think some _wine_ could damage something as inordinate as my reactor. It's not hard to make something waterproof, Rogers."

Steve ignored that. "It's damaged?"

"Ah, well, no. More like it's malfunctioning. Must have jostled something when I was cleaning it today, maybe a part is loose or the new element exhausted itself."

"Is it dangerous?"

Tony shook his head. "Like I said, just some nausea, nothing new to me." He glanced at Steve's face and added quickly. "Seriously, Cap, it's no big deal. It's not like I'm dying."

That wasn't reassuring. "You don't look so good from where I'm standing."

He waved him off. "Everyone's a critic, and apparently, a medical school graduate." He rolled his shoulders, and turned back to the mirror.

His body language asserted that he was finished speaking, but Steve was far from it. "Stark —"

"Look, go back to the party, enjoy yourself, go see POTUS before he really does demote you. If anyone asks, tell 'em I had to go back to Malibu for business or something." He pushed a strand of hair away from his forehead, and walked past Steve, patting his shoulder. "I don't know, make something up for me."

With that, he walked out the door, leaving a stunned Steve standing in an empty bathroom. He blinked twice, and turned, "Where are you going? Stark!"

He followed behind him out the door and to the hallway. Tony looked obviously annoyed when he saw that Steve was behind him, but Steve didn't care. "Where are you going?"

"Leaving." Stark said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. He pointed to his chest. "Have to replace it with a new one before it does some serious damage to me. Don't wait up."

He walked away again, but Steve followed, and it only took Stark three steps to realize that. He audibly sighed and turned around, "Steve, are we really playing this?"

"Where are you going?"

"I told you, I have switch this one out with a new reactor —"

" _Where_?"

"Where I keep my reactors! Jesus, I don't have time for this. Go back to the party, and just act cool, alright? Keep this," he gestured to his chest. "to yourself." He turned away again, this time more briskly. "And don't follow me!" He shouted over his shoulder.

Steve didn't. He remained where he stood, mentally absorbing everything that had just happened. His frown was deepening as he watched Tony walk away. _Probably heading towards the backdoor,_ Steve thought. _But to where?_

He didn't like not knowing things — he couldn't stand it. Coming out from the ice, he was introduced to a whole wide world of _unknowns,_ and it drove him mad. Nothing made sense, and trying to make sense of things only made them more confusing.

Tony was like that. _The man's an enigma,_ Steve thought in frustration, moving back to the bathroom to grab Stark's discarded jacket. _An annoying, pain in my ass, stubborn little shit of an enigma._

But even as he thought this, jacket in hand, he still found himself following Stark.

The uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach was throbbing now, spreading throughout his body. He identified it as worry.

 _There's nothing to worry about,_ Steve thought. _Stark said he's fine. He said so himself. He can take of himself._ That thought made him grimace. _No he can't,_ he immediately thought afterwards.

He picked up the pace, trudging down the hall hoping it led to a backdoor.

Stark had no sense of self-preservation, Steve knew this. It was painfully obvious whenever the man did _anything._ He was also too damn proud, a trait Steve had seen in many men while in war. Just trying to make Stark admit something was wrong was a dance all to its own.

His instinct to help was kicking in, his adrenalin pumping.

The hallway walls were littered with exquisitely framed photos of the Stark family, and he felt like Howard's photographed eyes were glaring at him. _I'm trying here, Howard_ , Steve mentally groaned. _Your son's the one making it difficult_.

Steve made a turn at the end of the hall, but Stark still wasn't in sight.

 _Arc reactor malfunctioning,_ Steve thought, mulling over Stark's words. _No big deal._ That lie was as naked as a newborn child. How could a malfunction in a device that was _keeping him alive_ be no big deal? Steve didn't buy it. He adamantly didn't buy it, and, frankly, felt somewhat hurt that Tony would _think_ he would.

Ahead of him, grand glass doors stood, adorned in a finely carved wooden frame, stone pillars on each side. Behind it was the night sky, wide steps that led down to the backyard that was littered with the guests' cars, and on the last of those steps, a lone silhouette. _Bingo._

Steve pushed open the doors carefully. He could hear Stark speaking. Squinting through the darkness, Steve could make out a phone in the man's hand, pressed to his ear.

"You're still at Fulton, yeah?" Stark was saying. He stopped to listen to whatever the other person was saying on the other line, then responded, "Excuses, really? Come on, I know you guys are open 24/7. It'll only take a few minutes. . ."

Steve felt absolutely no guilt eavesdropping on the conversation. He took another step down.

"It's not, I swear," Stark said after a pause. "Really. . . _Yes_ , really! Look, I'll just pop by for a second, Ok? A minute, tops — oh, don't give me that, I know you carry it around."

Tony began pacing back and forth, eyes glued to the ground. "It won't take long, I swear. Just a little hiccup. I'm sure you'll figure it out. . .great — fantastic, alright, I'll see you in a few minutes." He pulled the phone away from his ear and hung up.

"Who was that?" Steve asked.

Stark jumped. " _Fuck!"_ He whipped around so fast, Steve was afraid he might topple over. "Fuck, Steve! Don't do that! You nearly gave me a heart attack — actually, I think you _did_ give me a heart attack. _Christ_. Are you trying to kill me?" Stark was breathing fast, which made Steve feel somewhat remorseful for startling him. _Sneaking up on people is more Nat's thing, anyway._

His expression didn't falter. "Who were you talking to?"

Stark said, "Just a friend of mine. You know, the nice kind, the one's that _don't_ try to kill me. What do you want?"

Steve threw him his jacket. Tony caught it with the least amount of grace, fumbling with it before throwing it over his shoulder. "Well, aren't you a sweetheart," he muttered. "Is that all? I've got places to be."

"Stark. . ." Steve began. He stopped, licking his lips. Stark was staring at him with a mix of annoyance and impatience. He ignored those eyes and took in Tony as a whole. The man looked absolutely dreadful. Steve didn't like the way his face was pinched, almost like he was in pain. The reactor was definitely affecting him, and not in a good way.

Steve sighed, and tried a different tactic. "Tony, I'm worried, alright? About _you_. You really don't look well. Frankly, you look like shit — and that's sugarcoating it."

"Steve, I'm fi —"

"You're fine, yes, I _know_ ," exasperation dripped from his voice. "But our definitions on the word 'fine' are very different." At Stark's frown, Steve continued. "I just want to make sure you're alright. Just . . . let me help you with this, Ok? For my peace of mind. You said you have to go somewhere, right? Let me come with you. Just so I'm reassured that you're alright."

Tony stared at him, then exhaled slowly from his nose. He ran a hand down his face while saying, "I can't believe you're using the puppy eyes on me. _Me,_ of all people. I fucking hate dogs." He huffed, then nodded. "Fine, fine, _fine_. You win, Cap. But I'm only letting you tag along because I know you won't leave me alone if I said no. You persisting bastard."

Steve smiled. "You know me so well. I'm touched."

"Yeah, yeah," Tony muttered. "Alright, let's go. I feel the nausea returning, probably because of your disgusting concern. Where'd you park?"

Steve frowned, looking at the sea of fancy cars, neatly parked side by side. "I didn't. I came by subway."

"You came by _subway?"_ Tony balked. "You came to one of _my_ parties in a subway? Jesus, Steve."

"First of all, it's not your party, you're just providing it with a location." Tony seemed personally attacked at having his own words thrown back at him. "And secondly, I'm _sorry_ I didn't freeze my car with me when I decided to jump into the future," Steve shot back sarcastically. Which wasn't true — he never did own a car, but Tony didn't need to know that. "Why don't we just take your car?"

"I didn't bring one." He stated. At Steve's look, Tony defended, "What? I was _driven_ here."

"So then call your driver. Tell him to come pick us up."

"And what, wait an hour for him to drive from the other side of the city to here?"

"I don't see you coming up with any better ideas."

Stark paused briefly. He looked like he was contemplating something and was silent for exactly three seconds. "That's because I already came up with one," Tony said vaguely, walking towards the lot. Steve suppressed the urge to groan in frustration but followed nonetheless.

Stark stopped in front of a roofless car ( _convertibles_ , Steve thought. _That's what they're called. Top downs._ ) and gave it a once over. He frowned thoughtfully then nodded to himself. "This will do."

Steve felt a headache coming on when he realized Stark's _'better idea'_. "No."

"You don't even know what my idea is," Tony bristled.

"We are _not_ stealing someone's car."

Eyes to the sky, Stark pinched the bridge of his nose. "I swear to _God_ , Rogers, if you start lecturing me on the moral dilemma of carjacking I will throw this car at you."

"The President of the United States is less than ten yards away and you want me to help you commit a crime!?" Steve hissed shrilly, pointing to the mansion.

"What are you going to do? Tattle on me?" Tony waved him off, and angled himself over the small, black two seater. "Relax, Captain Morality. I know who owns each car. I'll return it before they even realize it's gone."

Steve doubted that.

Tony bent over the car's locked door, upper body pointed to the steering wheel, and pulled something out of his pocket. Steve looked down over the man's shoulder. It looked like some sort of swiss army knife, only more high tech. Tony pressed a button and the thing lit up. Definitely high tech. He pushed it into the car's ignition keyhole, pressed a button, and the device began to hum. A click sounded, the car roared to life, all sorts of lights flashing in the interior, and Tony pocketed his gadget.

"Easy peasy," Tony sang. Hand on the door, he stood straight.

Once upright, however, he swayed dangerously, and all the color left his face. His knee buckled, and suddenly he was falling.

Steve was quick; he grabbed Stark under the elbow before he fell flat on his face.

"Tony! Are you alright?"

Stark blinked rapidly, brow furrowed. He brought hand up to his head, and swallowed. "Yeah, I'm just. . ." He trailed off, staggering slightly.

He exhaled, then weakly pushed away from Steve and straightened himself, one hand on the car to steady himself. He cleared his throat and said, "I'm good. Just stood up too quickly. Got dizzy."

Steve's hand remained hovering over Tony's shoulder, afraid the man might topple over again. Bells were going off in Steve's head. _He's not alright. He's not alright. He's not alright._

"You're not alright," Steve said aloud.

Tony, true to his character, brushed it off with an eye roll. "Just a little headrush, Cap. It's no medical mystery. And stop looking at me like that, Jesus, you look like a lost puppy."

He yanked the car's front door open, but Steve stopped the motion halfway with his palm. "Maybe it's best I drive," he said slowly.

A flash of stubbornness gleamed across Stark's eyes, and Steve knew the man was about to fight him on it.

The expected argument never came, instead it looked like Tony was considering Steve's suggestion logically. "Suit yourself," he shrugged.

He made his way around to the passenger seat. Steve stood, watching. His eyes picked up on how Stark sluggishly carried himself, with extraneous effort to make himself seem like there was nothing wrong. But, Steve didn't miss it.

Stark threw his jacket into the seat first, then sat down heavily, and Steve followed, taking his own seat behind the wheel. The door swung close with a click.

"Where to?" Steve asked, remembering that Tony never actually told him where his destination was.

The rumble of the car's engine was low and soothing, like the sound of distant thunder. Tony had his eyes closed, his head leaning back against the leather seat. "Fulton Street. You know where that is, right?"

Steve racked his brain. "I think so. Is it downtown?"

A nod. "Yeah. Don't worry, I'll give you directions. There's a CVS Pharmacy on the corner of the street, that's where I'm heading — or, _we're_ heading, because apparently I carpool now."

"You keep spare arc reactors in a pharmacy?"

Tony opened one eye and managed to shoot him a dirty look. "God, Steve. You never give me enough credit. And, _no,_ I have a friend, _who works there_ , that has it."

"Is that who you were on the phone with? Before?" Steve nodded behind him.

Tony scratched his eyes when he answered, "You object to carjacking, but eavesdropping is A-OK in your books? You need to sort out your morals, Rogers. But yes, for the sake of quenching your unquenchable curiosity, it is the same person I was talking to on the phone. She's a friend of mine that works in the pharmacy that sometimes comes in handy."

"A woman," Steve said apprehensively.

Tony scowled, "Don't give me that look. It's nothing like that. She's a college student."

Steve raised his eyebrows.

"God damn it, Steve, not like _that,"_ Tony groaned. Steve bit his tongue to stop himself from grinning. "Let me start over before you start thinking even _lesser_ of me than you obviously already do," he said.

"Stark Industries holds an annual scholarship contest for young inventors, engineers, scientists, and so on, to see who can develop the most innovative contraption — it's basically a bunch of college kids competing for twenty grand by making the best toy. PR stuff, you know? The good ol' societal marketing concept. Dina, _my friend,_ won. Blew all the money on a car. Made me so proud."

"What'd she build?"

"Some fancy schmancy portable blood tester," Stark said off handedly. "Helped me out last year with the whole palladium poisoning business, but that's a story for another day."

Steve knew he'd read about Stark's palladium fiasco from S.H.I.E.L.D.'s files, but the details were foggy at the moment. He'll give them another look later. "What does this have to do with her having your arc reactor?"

Tony scratched his neck with his index finger distractingly. "Her invention used palladium, I told her about the new element I created, and she came up with a way apply it in her gizmo. I had nothing better to do, so I helped her out. Gave her an old reactor to play with."

Steve was impressed by that. "Really? Huh."

"What, you don't believe me?"

"No, it's not that. It's just. . .well, I never thought you could be so. . ." Steve trailed off.

"Nice?" Tony supplied with a sarcastic drawl.

Steve grinned. " _Paternal_."

Tony looked absolutely repulsed, which made Steve snicker. "You're an ass," he stated, then huffed. "Alright, bonding time is over. Do you plan on driving anytime soon? Let's go, Cap."

Steve nodded. He looked down at the steering wheel and grimaced.

He hadn't noticed until now, but the interior of the car was an electrical circus. _That's a lot of buttons,_ he thought desolately. Some of them were blinking while others remained lit. There was a screen in the center of the dashboard, which Steve hoped didn't hold any importance because he had _no_ idea what it was for.

"Any day now," Tony muttered.

"Give me a second." He reached for the gear shift clutch, then stopped and bit his lip when he couldn't find it on the floor between the front seats, where it was _supposed_ to be.

Stark was watching him, and had definitely noticed his aborted motion, because, suddenly, he groaned dramatically. "Oh my _God,"_ he covered his face with hands in dismay. "Don't tell me. . ."

"Shut up, Stark."

He dragged his hands down slowly, maintaining eye contact with Steve, which Steve knew he was doing intentionally just to rile him up. Tony said, with a very matter-of-fact tone, "You only know how to drive stick, don't you?"

Steve didn't supply him with an answer — for one, he didn't know what _stick_ was supposed to mean, and also, ' _only'?_ Does that mean there are _other_ ways to drive a car? — and instead asked, with plenty of reluctance, "Just. . .tell me where the gear shift."

"This is historic," Tony was saying, more to himself, as he often does. "Iron Man teaching Captain America how to drive. The author of my biography is definitely gonna get a kick out of this. I think I'll dedicate a whole chapter to this momentous occasion, call it: _Captain America Removes Stick Shift Knowledge, As Well The Stick Up His Ass._ "

Steve glared, and Tony tiredly placated. " _Fine._ We'll save getting that stick out of your ass another day." He pointed, "You see that lever behind the steering wheel? Just flick it to _Drive_ and you're good to go."

Steve obliged and tapped the small lever. The _D_ print lit up, and Steve nodded to himself. Simple enough. He could get this.

He glanced around him. The cars parked in the backyard-turned-lot were all lined up horizontally, therefore, all he had to do was move forward. Easy. He placed both hands on the steering wheel, and pressed down on the gas pedal.

The car _bolted_ forward in incredible speed, surprising Steve so suddenly that he slammed his foot on the breaks.

The car jolted to a stop, the sudden propulsion pitching both Steve and Tony forward, then back in their seats, hard.

Stark cursed. "The hell was that!?"

"Sorry," Steve answered quickly. "It's — The car's _really_ fast!"

"What else would you expect from a sports car — _ow,_ " He rubbed his head. "If I get a concussion, it's on you. God damn, Cap."

Steve ignored him — he was getting pretty good at that, it seemed. He snuck a small glance at the brake pedal, hoping he didn't accidentally break it. It seemed undamaged, so Steve sat back satisfied.

"Put your seatbelt on," he said, reaching for his own. Tony grumbled, but did so.

With a huff, he tried again. He pressed down on the gas pedal, _softly._ The car obeyed, and Steve drove them out of the the mansion's backyard, and onto the road.

The streetlights filled the roads with yellow, and the car's glaring headlights provided more vibrancy in the somber night. Without a top, wind gushed into the interior of the car, flipping his and Tony's hair back. _It's like driving half a car,_ Steve thought. _What could possibly be the benefit of a roofless car?_

He stopped in front of a traffic light. The streets were empty and quiet, contributed by the lateness of the hour. Steve glanced over at Tony, only to see that the man was resting his head on the window, eyes closed.

Steve frowned and thought the worst. "Stark. . ." he cautioned. "Tony."

The man reacted by furrowing his brows, then irritably acknowledged Steve with a " _what_?"

"What are you doing?"

"Sleeping."

"Don't." Steve said. "You're supposed to tell me where to go."

"Just go left," he murmured without opening his eyes. "Find the 9A, keep driving down."

The streetlights were illuminating off of Tony's face, exaggerating his features. The creases on his brow were more defined, and Steve worried that he was in more pain than he cared to admit or show. _What ever the broken reactor is doing to him, it's doing it fast and hard._

The traffic light blinked green, and Steve rotated the wheel, turning left. He was slowly getting accustomed to the vehicle. It was definitely luxurious, and it rode so smoothly that it was as if it were gliding over pavement.

Large green signs hanging over the roads directed him on where to find the 9A, and in a few minutes he was on the wide highway, the Hudson River gleaming under the moon to his right, skyscrapers to his left.

He chanced a glance at Tony again, only to find him in the same position from earlier. "Stark," He called, maintaining visual on the road. "Stark."

"God damn it, _what_?" This time, Stark did open his eyes, only to glare at Steve with prickliness. His eyes were bloodshot, which Steve definitely didn't like the look of.

"I told you not to sleep." Steve knew that if he brought up how awful Stark looked to him, Tony would just deflect with jokes, curses, or vague retorts. Under different circumstances, Steve would have been quite proud of himself at how much better he now was at understanding Stark's character than compared to six months ago.

To Steve's frustration, however, Stark curled away from him, mocking, "What are you gonna do, court martial me for disobeying a direct order?"

 _That's how he wants to play? Alright._ The streets were fairly empty. There were a few cars ahead of him, but none too close to his vicinity. Both hands on the steering wheel, Steve made a sharp swerve to the right. The car lurched to the right, and immediately Steve turned to the left, remaining in the same lane, making the car jerk as if it had a hiccup.

It caused the intended reaction; Tony bounced from in his seat, body swinging from right to left under the seat belt. As Steve determined, Tony was wide awake, eyes wide in indignation. "What the _fuck,_ Rogers!?"

"I told you to stay awake."

"So you decide to go all _Fast and Furious_ on my ass!?"

"Don't be a baby," Steve chided.

"I'm older than you!"

"Only in mind, not in body," Steve smirked.

Tony huffed, sitting up straight. He pulled his jacket from under him and tossed it underneath his legs, squirming in his seat to assume a more comfortable position. "You are, by far, the _worst_ chauffeur I've ever had. I hope you know that."

Steve didn't let his movements go unnoticed, "Don't fall asleep, Stark. You're getting paler by the minute, and I don't know if sleeping will help or worsen your condition. I don't want to risk it." Not to mention, drowsiness was never a good sign. A thin sheet of sweat covered Stark's forehead, and he didn't miss how the man's breathing had somewhat become labored. He couldn't take any risks with Stark.

"Don't get all your feathers in a twist, Captain Mother Hen," Tony scoffed. "Besides, I can't help it; I'm _tired._ You're the most boring road trip buddy ever so it's no surprise you're boring me to sleep."

"Really? Blaming me?"

"I'm not going to blame myself, now am I?" Tony rubbed his eyes. "Do your part. Fill the silence, Cap. Talk. I don't know, tell me a story. Un-bore me."

Steve cracked a small smile. "You want me to tell you a bedtime story?"

"God, no. Bedtime stories are for children who can't sleep. I'm looking for the complete opposite; Tell me something to keep me awake."

Ahead of him, Steve could see the Brooklyn Bridge in the horizon. _Almost made it,_ Steve thought. He steered the car to the inner lane. _The exit must be coming up._ He turned his attention back to Tony, "Alright. I've got a story. It involves Nat."

That definitely got Tony's attention. "Yeah?"

Steve nodded. "You'll definitely like this."

"That's a bold statement. What'd you do, try to fit into her catsuit?"

"Even better."

For the past six months, he'd been spending an awful amount of time with Romanoff and Barton, under the orders of Fury. He'd gone on a handful of missions with the pair, sometimes with each one separately. They'd spent so many stressful hours together working, that during their free time, they've been able to wind down together. Their chemistry was quite in tune, and Steve always enjoyed himself when he was in their company.

"Even _better_?" Tony repeated with obvious dubiety. "How?"

"I made her laugh."

"No way," Tony deadpanned.

Steve nodded, "Oh, I did. It wasn't even one of her fake laughs. It was a genuine, honest to God, bending over type of laugh."

"What'd you do, tell her you never actually punched Hitler?"

Steve laughed. "I've never said I did."

"You've never denied it, either!"

Steve grinned. "No, no. This happened a few months back —"

A shot cracked from behind him. Suddenly, his shoulder exploded in pain, and a bloody bullet slammed into the windshield, creating a spiderweb of cracks on the glass.

Steve gasped at the sudden agony, his vision bursting with white, his hearing obstructed by Tony's voice shouting "Rogers! Shit, Steve, _Steve_!" and his brain screaming _"Danger! Danger! Danger!"_

His right shoulder was both wet and flaming. His world was tilting to the left — no, the _car_ was going left. Blinking harshly, he realized he must have accidentally turned the wheel, and just before the vehicle collided with the highway barrier, he maintained control and corrected the car.

Another bullet whizzed past him, hitting the windshield, cracking the glass more. Tony cursed loudly, and Steve shouted, "Get down! Get _down_!" Instincts were quickly kicking in and Steve slammed his foot on the gas pedal, speeding ahead.

He glanced at the rearview mirror; three motorcycles were on his tail. Each of the helmet wearing riders wielded a different type of firearm.

Steve's eyes widened in alarm when all their guns pointed at them — _What the hell_?

* * *

( **TBC** )


	2. (2)

**Title:** Credence

 **Summary:** Tony insists he's fine. Steve insists he's full of shit. (Two-Shot) _(Subject to change)_

 **Characters:** Steve Rogers (Captain America), Tony Stark (Iron Man)

 **Pairings:** None.

 **Warnings:** Language, some violence.

 **Time Period:** Set Post-Avengers

 **Disclaimer:** I own nothing.

* * *

(2)

* * *

"Steve!" Tony was still shouting at him, which Steve could really use without at the moment. He was gritting his teeth so solidly that his jaw ached.

The car was speeding down the highway at breakneck speed, but it couldn't out run the rapid torrent of gunfire.

One bullet hit the car's blinker, another lodged itself at the center of the rear license plate. A third bullet took out Steve's center rearview mirror. Trickles of glass rained down on him, but Steve didn't even blink.

He kept twisting the wheel, swinging the car in different directions, hoping to the throw off the shooters' aim. "Steve! _Steve_!"

" _What_?" Steve bit out. One of the motorcycles was speeding up, taking the lead over the others. The rider's gun was disturbingly large.

"You're bleeding! _Fuck_ , that's a lot of blood!"

"I'm a little busy right now," he growled, concentrating on his attempts to shake off his assailants. He could feel the blood oozing down his shoulder and dripping from his elbow. The pain was agonizing but he blocked it out as best he could. The sound of roaring motors was getting louder.

Steve chanced a glance to his side; his side view mirror showed the large gun wielder right behind him, gun pointed directly at them.

 _Shit_.

"Get down!" Steve shouted, grabbing Tony by his neck and pulling him down under the dashboard. He ducked his head as well, right when a spray of bullets flew over them.

 _Ta-ta-ta-ta-ta-ta-ta-ta-ta-ta-ta-ta-ta_ went the bullets as they smashed into the windows, the doors, the windshield and the rear, painting the car with holes and slashes.

"We're too exposed in this car!" Steve shouted over the rapid firing. "We're sitting ducks without a roof!"

"Fuck!" Tony yelled. "Roll the top up! Roll the fucking top up!"

"I don't know how!" A bullet hit the screen in the middle of the dash. Another whizzed right past Steve's head, hitting the steering wheel. "Do it! We need cover now!"

"Goddammit!" Tony picked up his head slightly, pressing a few buttons on the car. The windshield wipers were activated, brushing over bullet-ridden glass. Tony cursed and slammed his fingers on more buttons. The wipers stopped, and a noise sounded behind them.

The trunk opened, and a platform unfolded from inside it, covering the top of the car, sealing it.

Fully encased, noise from the outside became muffled. Steve didn't relax. He sat up straight and concentrated on driving. "Who the hell _are_ these people!?"

"The fuck should I know!?" Tony bellowed. A bullet hit the side window, shattering a chunk off it. Another sliced the exterior of the door. "They sure as hell are determined! We need to get them off our asses."

"What do you think I've been _doing_?!"

The motorcyclist with the large gun must have run out of bullets, because the rapid shooting stopped. A glance at the side mirror and Steve saw that they were switching positions.

"Steve — _Steve_! Ahead of you!"

Steve's head whipped to the front. Ahead of him was a civilian car, and he flying straight towards it. With his desperate speed and the other's moderate speed, it was bound to become head on collision. Quickly, Steve twisted the wheel, turning his car, missing the other by a few inches, and positioned himself in front of it.

Steve exhaled shakily. _The speed of this car was a blessing and a curse._ The highway was beginning to fill up with other civilian cars. _Not good, not good, not good._

"Stark," Steve said. "Do you have anything on you? A weapon of some sorts? Anything?"

"I'm as armed as you are," Tony replied negatively. "All I have is my little carjacker, but that won't help us here."

"Then be my eyes — tell me where they are. Do you see any of them?"

Stark nodded and glanced towards his own side mirror while Steve concentrated on zigzagging past civilian drivers. _No collateral damage. Maintain as minimum casualties as possible_. "We've got incoming on my side. He's got a handgun."

"Damn," Steve cursed, but not from Tony's announcement. There was a car in each lane ahead of him; there wasn't a gap in sight to squeeze through to avoid the assailant. He was stuck in a driving purgatory; unable to move up or go back. "Damn it!"

"Steve," Tony called. "He's pulling up fast."

"I know, I know!"

But he couldn't move from his lane. All directions were blocked. Steve's heart picked up.

Tony was stirring next to him. From the corner of his eye, Steve saw the man bend over and pick up his jacket from the floor.

"What are you doing?" Steve asked, but Stark ignored him. He pressed a button on his door and the window rolled down. He unbuckled his seatbelt. "Stark! What are you doing? _Stark_!"

Tony stuck his head out the window, then pulled back quickly when a shot rang out, clipping his side mirror. Steve's heart nearly dropped.

 _He's going to get himself killed!_

Stark unrolled his jacket, then, much to Steve's surprise, threw it out the window.

The jacket flew back in the air, towards the motorcyclist. It wrapped itself around his helmet, sleeves waving on either side of it, and the rider panicked at the sudden blindness — and in his panic, jerked his handles, twisting the bike's wheel.

The motorcycle tripped on itself, falling to the ground along with its rider. The rider was tossed onto the ground hard, and rolled down the street — down and down and down the street until they couldn't see him anymore.

Tony turned to Steve with wide eyes and grinned. "One down."

The remaining motorcyclists took advantage of Tony's open window instantly, firing through it. Bullets struck the windshield again, lodging themselves in the glass along with the dozens of others. "And two to go," Steve griped. The glass was littered with so many bullets and bullet holes that his view was nearly obstructed.

"There!" Tony suddenly voiced. "That's our exit!" Stark was pointing at a large green billboard that read _VESEY STREET NEXT EXIT._

Steve grimaced. There were still two shooters left; one at his rear, and the other to his right.

The shooter behind him wasn't letting up, shooting excitingly at them whenever he was able to. If they took the exit and entered a more populated area, the chances of a stray bullet hitting a pedestrian were far too high for comfort. He needed to get rid of him.

Using his only remaining mirror to glance back, Steve saw the shooter reloading a new magazine into the cartilage. "Put your seatbelt on," he barked to Stark.

Luckily, Tony didn't argue, but he did look confused. When Steve heard the metal clicking, he gripped the steering wheel hard and said, "brace yourself."

Tony's head picked up, "Wait, what are —"

— Steve slammed both feet on the brake pedal, and the car's tires screeched as the the vehicle came to an instant stop.

Steve and Tony were propelled forward and back behind their belts. The motorcyclist behind them, so preoccupied with trying to juggle riding his bike and reloading his gun, had no time to move out of the way, and slammed straight into their car's trunk, head colliding with the rear windshield and cracking the glass, then falling to the ground.

The cars behind them all began to stop as well, but Steve gave them no time to observe the aftermath of the collision. He pressed down on the gas pedal, and swerved to the right, driving towards the exit.

"You could have fucking warned me you were going to do that!" Tony hollered at him, hand around his neck. Steve's own neck was aching from the force of the stop as well, but he ignored it and drove onto the narrow streets.

"Shit," Tony muttered. He was looking behind them, saying, "We've still got one more."

Steve didn't need Stark's commentary; he could hear the motorcycle's engine roaring behind him. "Which way do we go?" He asked breathlessly. He looked at the mirror; the rider was pulling out their gun, propping it over the handles and pointing it at them.

Tony looked up, head bobbing in attempt to peek through the severely abused windshield. "Shit. The road's closed ahead." Steve noticed it, too. A few blocks down he could make out concrete barriers, orange cones, and yellow tape. He needed to turn, and the traffic lights would be changing soon.

"Where do we go, Stark?" Steve asked fervently.

"We need to go into Barclay Street, but it's blocked—"

A bullet clipped the rear of the car loudly. "Then give me an alternative route!"

"I'm not fucking Google Maps!" Tony shouted. "I can't see through the damn glass!"

Steve grit his teeth. He unbuckled his seatbelt, brought up one knee, and kicked the windshield in. The glass crunched underneath his foot and bent. With his second kick, the whole windshield popped out of the frame, sliding down the hood, and onto the street.

Steve put his seatbelt back on. Wind splashed in their faces. "Another route, _now_!"

"Left!"

Steve turned immediately, right after a bullet whizzed past his ear. If he had delayed turning for one second, there would have been a gruesome hole in the back of his head.

The motorcycle took the same turn.

 _I can't shake him off,_ Steve thought. The streets were much narrower here compared to the highway, making it harder for the car to move any direction other than straight ahead. _I'm a mouse in a maze, and there's a tiger chasing after me._

Cracks of gunfire sounded again. "Which way?" Steve asked promptly.

Tony looked around, eyes squinting from the harsh wind. "Ok — uh, keep driving down Warren Street, then left when you see Church Street."

A bullet cracked near Tony, and Stark let out a yelp, clutching his head. "Are you hit?" Steve asked instantly, panic creeping along his voice. " _Stark_! Are you alright?"

"Yes! I'm fine!" Stark hissed, removing a hand from the side of his head. Steve saw red on his palm. "Bullet scraped my head. _Shit_ , that was close."

 _Too close,_ Steve thought. _Way too close for comfort._ The motorcyclist behind them wasn't abating. There'd be no way for them to reach their destination without first being taken down by a bullet. The streets were too confined, with hardly any intersections.

Apartment and commercial buildings lined up around them, with some alleyways and driveways between them. There was no where to turn, no where to lose their assailant.

 _Unless. . ._

Steve focused on the road. An intersection was coming up ahead of him, but the light was red on his side, and cars were crossing on the opposite sides. Eyes narrowed, Steve pressed down on the gas pedal, and the car's engine rumbled in response.

Tony's eyes moved from the street to Steve, widening considerably. "You better not be doing what I think you're doing. . . _Steve_!"

Steve ignored him and kept his eyes on the approaching intersection.

"We're not going to make it — _Steve_ , we'll be hit!"

Steve held his breath as they zipped past the red light —

— and by _some_ miracle, none of the passing cars hit them. Many did honk.

Tony let out a loud breath, "God _damn it,_ Rogers! I saw my whole life flash before my eyes! Who the _fuck_ gave you a license!?"

 _No one,_ Steve wanted to say. _Never got it._ "Where's our guy?" Steve said instead.

Tony turned around, then scowled harshly. "Shit — he's still on our ass."

Steve grit his teeth. He drove around a car that was ahead of him, and his eyes landed on an advancing narrow alleyway between two apartments.

 _There_.

He didn't waste any time; before he could miss his chance, and before Stark could argue against his idea, Steve drove the car towards the mouth of the alley.

The car was far too wide for the opening, and the sides scraped against the walls in a loud screech. Sparks were flying, until finally the car was halted between the walls, completely stuck in between.

Steve didn't allow himself the satisfactory feeling of having his plan work out. He unbuckled his seatbelt and reached over to unbuckle Tony's. "Come on, let's go!"

He climbed over the steering wheel, out the windshield frame, and slid down the car's battered hood, feet landing solidly on the pavement.

Tony climbed out of the car as well, but much slower. He sagged down the hood, and collapsed against the vehicle.

"S-Shit. . ." Tony wheezed, and Steve was on his side instantly, a hand on his back to steady him.

"What's wrong?" It was a stupid thing to ask, but Steve couldn't stop the words from flowing out. The full effect of the broken reactor was finally showing its face, Steve realized. He could feel the rapid trembling from Tony's back, a grim sign that all the adrenalin from the chase was leaving his body.

"Gotta go," Tony gasped, hand clutching his chest, the arc reactor burning with color underneath his stained dress shirt. "It's happening f-faster than I thought . . . _fuck_. . ."

"Can you walk?"

Tony nodded heavily.

"Then let's go," Steve grabbed his elbow and pulled him along, out of the alleyway. Their discarded car's headlights stretched their shadows, making them dance along the brick wall.

The jammed car completely blocked the entrance of the alleyway, leaving only one exit on the opposite side, just as Steve had wanted. It gave their assailant a stalling obstacle, that in return gave Steve and Tony a head start to make their escape by foot. Steve was riding on the hope that their assailant treasured their motorcycle, because if not, they can just easily discard the bike and climb over the car.

Tony's feet were clumsy as they scrambled down the sidewalk. They looked like a pair of drunken fools, but even so Steve would have chosen that scenario over the one they were currently in.

Steve glanced at Tony. "Do you have any idea who these people are, or _why_ they're so hell bent on killing us?"

They stopped at a crossing, lights blaring red as the cars passed. "No," Tony said, almost sagging against Steve as they waited for the light to change in their favor. "Probably one of my more d-dedicated fans. . .desperate to take a selfie with me. . ."

"This isn't the time to be telling jokes, Stark."

"Could've fooled me. . ." Tony slurred.

Steve frowned grimly. They crossed the street when the traffic light blinked in affirmative. "This is serious. People are out to _kill_ us!"

"Minor details," Stark murmured, waving his hand clumsily.

"Not for me. This is a _major_ detail for me. Just because you don't care about your well being, doesn't mean I don't. I think we need to call Director Fury and let him know —"

"No."

Steve blinked. "No?" He repeated in disbelief. "Tony — we need help! Fury could send —"

"Drop it, Rogers."

Steve didn't. "I won't, not until you listen to me. Be reasonable, we need—"

"What part of _no_ don't you understand," Tony hissed firmly, stopping. He shoved Steve's arm away. "I _am_ being reasonable. I've never been more reasonable! I don't _need_ anything. I don't _need_ help, and I sure as hell don't _need_ S.H.I.E.L.D! So quit pestering me about it."

"You do need help, Stark!" Steve shot back. "Look at you! You can barely stand! How can you tell me you don't need help when you look like death warmed over for you? Stop acting like a child and start thinking reasonably."

"Oh, that's rich — this coming from the guy that just _tossed away_ our car so he could take a stroll around the city. Definitely _reasonable,_ Rogers."

Steve narrowed his eyes, "I didn't have a choice and you know it. Stop being immature and just accept the help!"

"Oh, fuck you," Stark snarled, turning around in a whirl and stomping away. "I should have never let you come if I'd known you'd be so fucking annoying!"

Steve threw his hands up in exasperation and followed Stark's angry strides. "You're just proving my point!" It really was like dealing with a child, though Stark's tantrums were more vulgar and counterproductive.

Tony was grumbling under his breath. Steve didn't bother attempting to listen to his words, he was sure they mainly consisted of profanities. Tony shot Steve a sour look when he saw that he was still behind him. "Again with this fucking game, Cap?"

"Worked the last time." Three steps behind him should be far enough as to not entice him, although Steve knew Stark was aware of his proximity, and vice versa. Steve didn't care. He'll continue to follow Stark, no matter how angry the other man, until he was reassured that Stark was alright.

Tony rounded a corner, but froze when a vicious cough tore itself from him.

It was only when the coughing _wouldn't_ _stop_ and Stark was doubled over that Steve threw away any hesitations to piss Stark off more and approached him, firmly slapping him on the back.

"Fuck — _off_ ," Stark gasped weakly, any heat in the words extinguished by his breathless voice.

When the coughing fit finally — _finally_ — subsided, Stark was left leaning heavily against the brick wall, hand clutching his chest, breaths coming out loud and ragged.

Steve's heart thundered in worry. His hand remained on Stark's back, hoping that the contact would be some sort of comfort for Tony, because that's the only comfort he had; he had nothing but his presence to offer Tony.

"Oh s-shit. . ." Stark moaned, hands gripping his knees hard, knuckles white as a sheet to match his face. "That's not — not good . . . _fuck_."

Steve's expression was pained with sympathy. " _God_ , Stark, that didn't _sound_ good. What — how can I help? What do you need?"

Stark shook his head, "Just. . .just get me to Dina."

Dina. . . _That's right. The pharmacy,_ Steve recalled. _His friend has his spare reactor. I have to get Stark to her._ He felt like he had had that conversation a lifetime ago, yet his throbbing shoulder was memory that it wasn't. _How did we go from a party with politicians to this?_

A sound Steve heavily dreaded filled the air, and his body tensed so hard he stopped breathing. He recalled the familiar noise instantly: motorcycle engines. _No, not now._

Steve didn't wait to see how far away the bike was, or if it was near them at all. He grabbed Stark's arm and hauled it around his shoulders, heaving the man onto his unsteady feet. His shoulder seared with pain at the movement, but Steve overlooked it. When Stark's only complaint was a groan, Steve felt panic webbing up his throat.

He looked around him. _Where to go, where to go, where to go?_ Buildings, apartments, stores, lights — nothing looked familiar to him. ' _It's louder and brighter, too, but, it's still New York,'_ that's what he had told Johnson earlier — what a joke. New York now is _nothing_ like the old New York. It was a brick maze.

Steve swallowed down his panic. _Think! Don't go off on tangents._ He looked at the small sign hanging on the same pole as the traffic light. _Spring Street,_ it read. Steve paused. That name sounded familiar. Where did he recognize it from. . .?

Steve blinked. _Of course._ Adrenaline coursed through him when he realized he knew what to do. He roamed the streets carefully. _Come on, come on, where is it...there!_ His eyes landed on the familiar green and white ball that sat on top of a green pole, then to the stairs that led underground. _The subway!_

He tightened his hold on Stark and practically dragged him across the street. Stark's feet were a dangle of messes, tripping over one another every other step.

Climbing down the stairs was a larger struggle, and it was becoming dauntingly obvious to Steve that Tony was losing whatever energy he had left with every rasping breath.

They reached the bottom step with drained huff. On the platform, Steve twisted in attempt to reach his back pocket without jostling Stark. He pulled out his wallet, and, with one hand, awkwardly took out his MetroCard from its sleeve. He swiped the card at the turnstile and pushed Tony through the rotating gates, before swiping for himself and following.

Stark was looking around in a daze. "The hell. . .?"

"Subway," Steve answered. The platform was empty, not a soul aboard. Strange. Usually it's bustling. He caught sight at the digital display that hung on the sealing: _4:08AM_. Steve almost gawked. _This is probably the longest night of my life._

Underneath the time, there was a digital timetable of the train schedule: _DOWNTOWN C TRAIN . . .2 MINUTES._ Steve blew out a lengthy sigh. Good. _Good_. Things were working out smoothly so far.

"Why. . ." Tony mumbled from beside him, pausing to catch his breath. "Are we. . .in the subway. . .?"

"It's faster." Steve looked down the tunnel. He could see the train's lights at the end of it. _Good, it's coming._

"I. . .fucking _hate_. . .the subway."

"I'm sure the feeling's mutual," Steve murmured absently. The train's wheels screeched on the rails, earning a wince from both him and Tony. When it passed them, a gush of air slapped them both.

The train slowed, the grinding noise becoming louder, then stopped completely. The doors opened, and a handful of people came out, not even sparing a glance at the two of them. The automated voice sounded from inside the train, _"THIS IS A DOWNTOWN LOCAL C TRAIN. THE NEXT STOP IS CANAL STREET."_

"Come on," Steve said. He grabbed Stark's elbow and boarded the train.

 _"STAND CLEAR OF THE CLOSING DOORS, PLEASE."_ The automated voice said, and Steve could have sworn it was purposely sounding condescending. _The world's laughing at me_ , Steve thought.

The doors closed behind him with a beep and a swoosh.

The cart was fairly empty. There was a family of some Asian descent sitting in the center seats, three children slumped against one another, asleep. At the far corner, a pale and ragged looking man sat by himself, his business suit looking as if it hadn't been washed in decades.

Steve guided Tony to the blue seats at the far end of the cart, isolating themselves from the rest of the train's inhabitants. Taking their seats besides each other, Steve wondered how strange they both must look – two men, one in a full suit, the other in a stained dress shirt with a blue glow underneath it, both bleeding and exhausted, drenched in the smell of sweat and alcohol and blood.

 _Actually,_ Steve thought sardonically, _we probably don't look any different from the average New York subway rider._

The pain in his shoulder was ebbing away. The healing wonders of the serum were finally getting to work, and Steve could almost hear the skin and muscles healing themselves. The exhaustion, however, was ever present.

Tony fared much worse, which concerned Steve more than his blood-soaked shoulder. The cut from the passing bullet had stopped bleeding, but it left a splash of red on the side of Stark's head. His breathing was horribly labored, and the simple task of inhaling and exhaling seemed to be a painful struggle for Stark.

What worried Steve the most, however, was the man's silence. Since boarding the train, Stark hadn't uttered a single word. The only sound he emitted was his harsh breathing.

The subway train shook before it began moving, leaving the station behind it. The cart swayed as it accelerated in speed, and darkness with the occasional light whipped past the windows. A row of stops was listed on top of one window in a long, digital board, and Steve was flooded with relief when he saw that Fulton Street was one of the stops.

"Only three more stops," Steve murmured to Tony.

Stark, slumped in his seat and blinking at nothing, rolled his head to look at Steve. His words were horribly slurred and slow when he asked, "How'd y'know. . .this train'd take us. . ."

"This is one of the trains I transfer to when I go to the Brooklyn Bridge," Steve answered in a calm voice, a complete contrast from the panic he was feeling.

"Sightseeing. . .?" Stark grunted. "And y'never invited me? Rude. . ."

"You never struck me as the type that would like that sort of thing."

"There's . . . a lot you don't know about me."

"Oh yeah? Like what?"

"L-Like. . ." Tony swallowed thickly, throat constricting. "Like. . .I've never been on the bridge. . ."

"You've never been on the Brooklyn Bridge?"

Stark nodded. "Drove on it . . . never walked it . . ."

"You've never walked across the Brooklyn Bridge? That's ridiculous."

"S'true. . ."

Steve shook his head humorously. "That's so sad, _God_ , what kind of New Yorker are you, Stark?"

"A busy one."

Steve smiled. "I'm sure. How about this: next time I plan to go, I'll let you tag along, return the favor of you letting me tag along today. Hopefully, it won't be as eventful as today was."

Stark hummed. "Hopefully."

"Sound good?"

"Good."

The train was beginning to slow down, jostling on the tracks. The automated voice announcing: _"THIS IS CANAL STREET. TRANSFER IS AVAILABLE TO THE N AND R TRAINS"_ as soon as it entered the new station.

When the train halted to a stop, the doors slid open.  
 _  
"THIS IS A DOWNTOWN LOCAL C TRAIN. THE NEXT STOP IS CHAMBERS STREET."_

The woman in the Asian family shook what Steve presumed to be her children awake, ushering them out of the train in a language he didn't understand.

On the far end door, a woman with short, messy hair entered the cart, eyes scanning the train for a preferable seat. She was staring curiously at the business suit clad man that sat at the end of the train. The man hadn't moved since they boarded, and appeared to be deep in sleep.

 _"STAND CLEAR OF THE CLOSING DOORS, PLEASE."_ The doors closed, and the train continued on its route.

Steve found himself staring at the woman that entered the train, waiting to see where she'd take her seat. However, his attention was quickly whisked away when Tony began coughing again.

Stark's hand was on his mouth in an instant as he tried to suppress the fit, but it was useless. The coughs kept punching out of him, one more strangled and ragged than the previous one. When he heaved the last one, he was left gasping for breath.

Stark pulled his hand away from his mouth slowly, then stared at it, transfixed with horrifying fascination. There was blood on it.

Steve didn't know who cursed first, him or Stark. " _Jesus_ , Tony —"

"T-This isn't . . . " Stark coughed again, blood trickling down the corner of his mouth. His head lolled, resting on Steve's shoulder. "Worse — it's w-worse than I thought — _Steve_. . ."

The way Tony said his name, the way it crawled out of the man's mouth with so much effort, made Steve's insides crawl. "Just keep your eyes open, we're almost there."

"Miscalculated it . . . it w-wasn't," Tony shuddered violently, raspy gasps clawing their way out from his throat. His words were muttered frantically, and Steve had trouble deciphering most of it. "It's a faster one — trying something new . . . I didn't — didn't think it would . . ."

Steve's eyes bore into him with horrible concern. "Don't talk, just take deep breaths. _Breathe_ , Tony. Concentrate on breathing."

Tony gave no indication that he had heard him. Delirium was blaring through his eyes and in his speech. "Have J.A.R.V.I.S run a s-scan — have him . . . have him do something. He knows — he can figure it...out and —"

His insistent mumbling was becoming more frantic by the second. Steve shook him lightly by the shoulder, brows creasing. "Tony, please — just calm down. Relax — _breathe_. It'll be alright . . ."

He trailed off involuntarily, his attention wandering onto the woman on the train that was staring at them. But it wasn't her staring that had him absorbed — it was her hand.

Her hand . . . that was reaching for her back, pulling something from under her shirt . . .

Time suddenly slowed, or Steve abruptly began thinking in velocious speed.

 _It's four in the morning, and she doesn't look tired,_ Steve thought quickly. _She hadn't sat down yet_ — _she walked into the train looking around_ — _she'd been staring at that man, like she's wondering who he is_ — _trying to figure out who he is_ — _trying to figure out if she knows who he is_ — _her hair's messy_ — _like she just took off a hat_ — _or a helmet_ — _one motorcyclist left_ —

Steve shoved Tony off the seat and onto the ground the moment the woman pulled out a handgun.

He propelled himself off the seat and darted, feet scrambling as he bodily pushed the woman with all his might before she could even fire the weapon.

They landed on the floor, the woman gasping as her back was slammed to the ground. The gun was knocked out of her grip.

The woman grunted, but recovered herself quickly. She pulled her arm back, and slammed her elbow on the side of Steve's head. His vision went black and his ears rang for a brief moment, and he fell of sideways.

Steve blinked. His senses returned to him. He saw the woman reaching for her gun, grabbing it, and pointing it towards Tony, who was trying to get up. _Damn it!_

Hastily, he kicked the gun out of the woman's hand, and it slid under a seat. "Stay down, Stark!"

He aimed a kick at the woman's face, but she was fast. She evaded it, twisted away from him and stood up, kicking Steve in the ribs. _She's strong_ , he thought, as his breath was knocked out of him.

But Steve was stronger. She went in for another kick but Steve grabbed her foot, twisting it. She was back on the ground, and this time it was Steve scrambling to stand.

He heard Tony cough, and he turned. He knew his mistake the moment he did it. His attacker greedily took advantage of his distraction; she was standing now, and in her hand was a curved knife. _Now, where the hell was she hiding that?_

She didn't hesitate. Advancing on him, she slashed, aiming for the throat. Steve leaned back, but the point of the knife clipped his skin. He hissed, mostly in irritation rather than pain.

She was incredibly agile, swiping left and right without pause. Steve was so preoccupied trying to avoid getting sliced up that he couldn't land a hit on her without the risk of getting something cut off.

The train was beginning to slow down, Steve could feel it. " _THIS IS CHAMBERS STREET. TRANSFER IS AVAILABLE TO THE A, E, 2, AND 3 TRAINS."_

Her knife nicked his cheek, and Steve grit his teeth. _That could have been my eye._

He shot his arm out and grabbed her wrist. He squeezed it, hard, feeling the bones grind beneath his fingers. She cried out, but the knife didn't fall.

Her other hand was moving, quick. She pulled something out of her pocket — _this woman is way too resourceful_ — and Steve didn't have time to register what it was.

She jabbed it in his stomach, and Steve felt the air leave his lungs. Electricity coursed through his body, shocking and rattling his insides. He squeezed his eyes tightly, unable to move as the voltage burst inside him, his vision going white.

The hand in his grip was trying to move downward. She was still trying stab him, even though some of the voltage was going through her due to the contact.

The knife was moving down, closer and closer to his throat, Steve could almost feel the coldness of the steel on his skin.

The electrocution was waning his strength with each volt. He was beginning to struggle in holding his grip on the woman's hand, trying to keep the knife in her grasp from stabbing him.

But then a shot rang out, and the woman's eyes went wide. The knife fell from her hand, the electricity stopped, and blood blossomed from her stomach.

Steve stepped back in shock. _Where_ — ?

He looked around. Stark was holding a gun with one hand, the other was balanced on the seat, keeping him upright. _Where the hell did he get a gun!?_ Steve thought incredulously — but as soon as he thought it, he remembered. _The woman. She dropped it._

The train stopped and the subway doors opened with a beep. The routine announcement boomed from the speakers. The woman had both hands on her bleeding abdomen, mouth gaping.

Steve acted quickly. Without penance, he kicked the woman square in the stomach as hard as he could. The force of the blow pushed her out through the open doors, falling hard on the concrete of the platform.

"— _STAND CLEAR OF THE CLOSING DOORS, PLEASE."_

The doors shut, and the train moved along, as if nothing happened, leaving behind the bleeding woman in the station.

He reached Stark and helped him onto his seat, gingerly prying the gun out of the man's hands. "I told you to stay down, Tony, _hell_."

"Looked like y'needed help," Stark mumbled, glassy eyes staring beyond Steve.

"Yeah, well, I didn't. You're lucky you're a good shot."

Stark snorted. "Was aiming for her head."

Steve grimaced at the weapon, unsure of what to do with it. _I might need it,_ he thought. _Who know's who else might be out there trying to kill us. . ._

Tony seemed to be reading his thoughts: "S'got no ammo."

"What?"

"Gun . . . used t'last bullet. Useless now."

Steve frowned, but internally shrugged. With his sleeve, he wiped the gun all around, hopefully erasing his and Tony's fingerprints. He dropped the weapon on the ground and kicked it away from him.

The business suited man hadn't moved or even acknowledged that he was aware of the commotion. Not even the gunshot roused him from his deep sleep. _I hope he's alright,_ Steve thought. _Maybe he's one of those homeless people that live in the subway. . ._

"Steve," Stark panted suddenly. "How many . . . more stops . . . ?"

"We're reaching it now, don't worry." Steve's eyes pierced into him. "Why, what's wrong?"

Stark shook his head. "Hard to . . . breath. Don't feel . . . so hot . . . "

Steve mentally cursed. He reached for Stark's wrist, feeling for a pulse. His skin was uncomfortably clammy and cold, and his pulse was — _damn it,_ his pulse was beating a mile a second.

"Just hold on a little longer, alright?" He said, because he really didn't know what else to say.

Stark shook his head, hand clutching his chest. He groaned, squeezing his eyes shut.

"No, no — come on, Tony. Keep your eyes open. Look at me."

With obvious struggle, Tony's eyes opened slightly, hazy eyes staring into Steve's clear ones. "That's it, come on. Just look at me. We're almost there."

Tony's jaw was clenched so hard that Steve could have sworn he could hear his teeth grinding. His chest heaved with every breath, then convulsed when a cough tore itself from him.

His hand latched onto Steve's forearm instantaneously, crushing it under his grip as he gasped for air. Steve didn't care. He kept Tony upright as the other man hacked out each cough, drops of blood sprinkling from his mouth.

With a final wheeze, Stark crumbled against his seat. "Tony — no, please, just stay awake." Stark moaned when Steve shook him; he didn't know if it was a moan of pain or annoyance. "Come on — don't you want to hear the story? About Natasha? Come on, I know you do."

Stark cracked one eye open. "Better be . . . damn hilarious . . ."

Steve huffed out a small, tired chuckle. "If you don't stay awake, you won't find out."

" _THIS IS FULTON STREET. TRANSFER IS AVAILABLE TO THE A, J, Z, 2, 3, 4, AND 5 TRAINS."_

"There, you hear that?" Steve asked. "We made it. Fulton street, right? We're there. Just hold on a little longer, OK?"

Tony made a strange noise, like a mix of a hiccup and a whimper. His back arched slightly, and the hand on Steve's forearm squeezed even tighter. "Heart — _shit_ , oh _God_ — I can feel it," Stark was gasping now. "It's hitting it — it's hitting the pacemaker — _Jesus_."

Steve paled. _That doesn't sound good_ — _that doesn't sound good at all._ Steve felt his heart rate pick up, and he could hear his blood pumping. Stark's condition was worsening expeditiously, it was obvious just by looking at him. _Fast, fast, fast. I have to move fast._

The train began screeching, indicating that it was slowing down. Steve looped his hand under Stark's shoulder and helped him up. "Come on, let's get you standing. That's it — easy, easy."

Stark's feet were wobbly, but they kept him upright. Steve navigated the man's arm over his shoulder and took on most of his weight, not minding the burden.

The shrill noise from the train halted, and the subway came to a stop with a huff. The computerized announcer began his periodic broadcast. Steve and Tony were out of the cart before the programmed voice said, "— _STAND CLEAR OF THE CLOSING DOORS, PLEASE."_

Steve spotted the staircase that led aboveground and adjusted his grip on his load before he made his way towards it. He stared at the stairs with forbearance. Climbing down the stairs with Stark practically slumped around him was difficult, but climbing up . . . well. He'll find out.

Carefully, one step at a time, they clambered up. It wasn't so much Tony's weight that gave Steve trouble, rather, it was that Steve was apprehensive to jostle Tony further and aggravate his already sensitive state.

When they finally reached the top, the cool night air breezed past their faces. Steve's shoulder was throbbing from the strain. Stark's full weight was now completely burdened on Steve. Tony was clutching his chest so hard, Steve was afraid he would tear out his own flesh.

"Tony? Tony, come on — stay with me," Steve implored anxiously, but Tony only responded by shaking his head, audibly gasping.

Steve focused on his task. He glanced up, quickly taking in his surroundings. Downtown Manhattan, even at four in the morning, was bustling with noise.

He twisted his head around, looking for the store. _CVS, CVS . . . come on, where the hell is it!?_ Steve swallowed down panic as best he could. He saw a whole line of franchise stores, but not the one he needed.

 _It wasn't here. It's not here,_ Steve thought in alarm. _How could it not be here? Tony said it was here_ — _he said Fulton Street!_

Across the street — nothing.

To his right — nothing.

To his left — _nothing_!

Steve paused, then blinked twice.

Slowly, with moderate disbelief, he turned around, and at the center of the building, in large, red letters, was a sign that read: _CVS PHARMACY._

Steve wanted to laugh — or scream.

He hoisted Tony more upright, and walked towards the glass doors that automatically slid open for them.

Fluorescent lights glared at him, cool air conditioned air wrapped around him, and a young man behind counter looked at him funny.

"B-Back," Tony wheezed, and Steve didn't need him to elaborate. He smiled at the young man at the counter politely, then made his way to the back of the store.

They passed aisles of chips and candy, then aisles of hair products and health products before they reached the back where a large counter met them. Above the counter were neatly aligned red letters that read: _Pharmacy_.

Behind the counter, a young woman sat on a tall seat, legs crossed, one hand holding a cellphone near her face, the other drumming along the surface of the ledge. She wore a white coat, had her hair pulled back in a tight bun, and seemed very occupied with whatever her phone was showing her.

Without hesitation or pause or preamble, Steve approached the counter. "Are you Dina?"

"Welcome to CV — oh my _God_!" When she finally glanced away from her phone and at her guests, she almost fell off her chair.

Steve disregarded her shock. "Are you Dina?" He asked again, even though it plainly said so on the name tag attached to her chest. _Can never be too sure._

"Yeah — yes, it's me. That's me."

"Stark called you, before —"

"And you and Mr. Stark, um, right. Yeah, yeah — I got it. Hold on, give me a second," she said, startled, putting her phone in her pocket. "Oh _man_ , oh man, oh man."

She trotted around the counter and stood in front of them. She was so short, Steve found it almost comical that she was actually a college student.

She looked around nervously while she rummaged through one of her coat's pockets. "Oh God, you guys are bleeding . . . Oh man, please tell me my manager didn't see you. I'll definitely lose my job if there's blood on the floors."

She pulled something out of her pocket and grabbed Stark's hand gingerly, frantically muttering other concerns that Steve didn't care for.

She was holding some sort of small, boxed object with a tiny needle at the end of it. She pressed it onto Stark's thumb, mumbling, "sorry, sorry," then pulled it away when it made a small beeping noise.

She glanced at Tony's ashen face with panic and worry. " _God_ , Mr. Stark, you said this was going to be no big deal. _Why_ did I believe you," she whined in her airy voice, looking at her small contraption, tapping her foot impatiently while she waited for it to do something. "You did _not_ warn me about this."

Stark picked up his head marginally. ". . . always complainin' . . . " he huffed, before dropping it tiredly.

"Can you help him?" Steve asked, impatience seemingly contagious.

"Um, probably, I don't know, maybe," She brought her thumb to her mouth and began biting her nail. "I just — I need to see what the readout is. It'll just take minute, then I can — you know, help. Um, were you with him? When it started — from the beginning? He really didn't tell me much on the phone. He certainly didn't tell me about," she gestured at them nervously, "all this."

Steve nodded, hoisting Stark upright when he was beginning to sag. Stark groaned, but contributed nothing more.

Dina winced slightly in sympathy. "Ok, good, good. Can you tell me his, you know, symptoms? How long he was conscious and all that? It'll help — could give me something to work with."

"Right," Steve racked through his memories. "He's been disorientated and in pain for a long time, and he threw up in the beginning, after —"

"He threw up? Oh, good, good, good. That's good. Ok, that's—" she stopped, jumping slightly. "Oh God, I'm sorry — I just completely interrupted you, oh man, I'm really sorry. Please, keep going. Just ignore me."

Steve nodded slowly. "Right . . . he threw up, then he complained that his heart was hurting, and he was constantly out of breath. Just recently he was coughing up blood."

Stark's head lolled, muttering ". . . drama queen . . . "

"Blood? Oh, that's a relief." When Steve shot her a strange look, the girl quickly amended, "No, no, no, I mean, that's bad, obviously. That's really bad — not _bad_ bad, you know? I just mean that, blood is good for _me_. As in, it helps me narrow down what this is . . . "

She stopped talking when her little device made small, shrill beeping noise. She looked at it, her face changing from confusion, to contemplation, to blankness, and then to understanding. "Oh! Alright — yeah, I know this. I can figure this out. You came to me just in time. I think I've got the right things to help — oh, but that means . . . yeah, we need to hurry. We should hurry."

She turned around and went back behind the counter. Steve assumed he was supposed to follow her, so he did so, dragging Stark along. Behind the counter was an open door, and Dina beckoned them inside.

The room was dimly lit when they walked in, but burst with light when she flicked a button on the side wall. The room was filled with counters and shelves filled with small boxes and bottles.

Against the wall was a desk that was littered with papers and books and wires and broken electronics, and next to it was a pink lounge chair that looked very comfortable yet very out of place.

Dina pointed at it. "Just — put him over there, I guess. Sorry it's so messy and . . . weird. My stepmom's the manager so I get to use this room to relax and work — school work and all. Not _work_ work. This is _work_ work, you know, being a pharmacist . . . "

Slowly, with great care, Steve lowered Tony onto the chair with a gentleness he didn't know he possessed. Tony let out a gritty moan, but beyond that, said nothing else, eyes pinched closed.

Dina appeared beside him, dispensing an armful of boxes and bottles onto her desk. "Ok, good, thank you. So much, really. There would have been no way for me to have carried him. You know, with being small and skinny and all." She laughed nervously.

She was arranging all her bottles on the desk, moving and lifting things around with ease. She opened one of the drawers and pulled out a syringe still wrapped in its plastic.

She stopped, suddenly, and turned to Steve, staring at him curiously. The corner of her mouth twitched downward, then upward as she tried to form her words. "Oh, um, actually. You can't be in here. . ."

"What?" Steve responded instantly.

Dina jumped, then immediately began to splutter, "That's — oh, god. I'm sorry, that's not what I meant! I didn't mean it like that —"

Steve sighed. _Relax, Rogers,_ he told himself. _You're too tense. Too wired._ He held up a hand, saying, "It's alright." The girl stopped stammering, and Steve continued. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you nervous. It's been a long night for us, so I'm a bit on edge."

The girl pursed her lips, nodding. Steve continued, tiredly asking, "Just . . . why can't I be here?"

Dina nodded again, swallowed, and said, "It's just — I really didn't mean it like that. I'm not kicking you out or anything, honestly. But — it's store policy. No one's supposed to be in here. Well, _I'm_ supposed to — it's just for employees, not customers, because, you know, this is where all the medication is. So, what I mean is — I'm not supposed to leave the counter unattended. My manager'll think I'm slacking off. I'm only supposed to be in here if I'm getting something for a customer, so if there's no one waiting on the other side, and I'm in here, then — "

"I understand," Steve cut her off gently. She swallowed whatever else she had to say and nodded.

Steve continued, "I get it, I do, it's just," his eyes glanced over to Stark's form, slumped on the seat. "I don't mean any disrespect by this but . . . I don't _know_ you. Aside from what Stark has told me about you, I don't know _anything_ about you. How do I know I can trust you?"

Dina bit her lip, rubbing her shoulder. "That's — I don't think I can make you trust me — not with our limited time . . . Mr. Stark is definitely in the final stage by now, and if I don't start dosing him with what he needs, he'll, you know . . . All I can tell you is that I've done this before — lots of times, for Mr. Stark. That's definitely not enough information to earn trust and all but, I mean, that's all I can give you."

Steve exhaled softly, nodding. Even if he didn't trust this woman, it wasn't as if there was any other option to turn to. He was already here, so he had to settle with it. But hearing her honest answer was enough to dispel some of Steve's suspicions. He nodded. _I have no choice. I have to trust her, and trust Stark's judgement._ He jerked his chin towards the door, "I'll . . . wait outside then."

The young woman was flooded with relief at hearing that, her face breaking out into a large smile. "Thank you so much, I really — I _really_ appreciate it. Don't worry, I promise I'll take care of Mr. Stark, you have nothing to worry about. I'll come out and get you when I'm done."

Steve nodded. He spared one last glance at the deeply unconscious Tony and left the room with a large amount of concealed reluctance.

The store was just as it was when he entered the backroom. There were two seats in front of the counter. Steve let himself ungracefully slump over one of them, letting out long sigh. _He'll be alright,_ Steve told himself. _He'll be fine, he'll be alright._

His knee bounced anxiously. He willed himself to be calm, but it was difficult. More than anything, he wanted to be in that room, to see what was happening, to help in any way he can.

 _I'd just get in her way,_ Steve thought. _What can I do? I don't know anything about reactors. I'd just be standing there, handing her her tools like a nurse in training._

But even if that were the case, Steve would have still wanted to be in that room. He felt unbelievably distressed at having left Tony alone with a person he'd never met.

No, that wasn't it. That wasn't the source of distress. Even though he'd just met the girl, her genuine honesty and nervousness made it incredibly difficult to mistrust her. No, that wasn't why Steve was distressed.

 _I should be in there with him._

 _We're a team_ — _he shouldn't have to go through this alone._

 _I should be in there._

Steve found he couldn't sit still any longer. He needed to move. He got up and paced around the aisles for a few minutes, then stopped in the health products aisle. He grabbed a box of gauze and headed for the front counter.

He chatted with the young man behind the register, giving him a false story of how he came to be injured (" _Damn, dude, that sucks. Those Citi bikes were always shitty. Last week I cut my leg riding one of 'em. It hurt, but gave me a pretty sweet scar."_ ).

He paid for the gauze and made his way back to his seat in front of the back counter. He wrapped his shoulder with ease, happy that it had finally stopped bleeding. Luckily, the bullet had went straight through the flesh, so there would be no unforeseeable complications with it later on.

Steve pocketed the remaining gauze and waited. Minutes ticked by agonizingly, but Dina never came out. He was tempted to go inside and ask her how she was doing, but was afraid he might startle her while she was doing something that required rigorous concentration.

Adrenalin completely worn off, Steve felt himself slipping into sleep, only to jerk himself awake when he felt unconsciousness slip through. _Stay awake,_ he willed himself. _Stay alert._

He managed to preoccupy himself by reading the text that was on the box of gauze. After he finished that, he began reading the labels on whatever product was within arm's reach, managing to kill an hour. Eventually, there were no more products for him to read, and he was back at staring at the wall, bouncing his knee.

Time passed so slowly, Steve could feel it. At one moment, the manager did approach him, asking him what he was waiting for. When he told her he was waiting for Dina, the woman hummed and just continued on her way.

About an hour after that, Dina walked out.

Steve stood up immediately. He felt like he was at a hospital, waiting to hear the grim news from the stoic doctor.

But Dina was anything but stoic. When her brown eyes found Steve's blue ones, she smiled slightly and said, "Sorry, it took longer than I thought. You must have been so nervous, God, I'm sorry — I lost track of time, you know, working. Did anyone gave you trouble, mister . . . um —"

"Steve," he supplied, approaching the counter. "And it's alright, don't be sorry. Everything was fine on my end," He paused, then asked, "Is Tony alright, though? Did everything —"

"Oh God, of course, I should have just opened with that — you must have been so worried, I'm sorry. No, no everything's fine, though. Mr. Stark is perfectly alright, considering. I'm just glad I figured out what it was before it completely ruined his system."

It was as if all the pressure and strain and dread from the night's events had evaporated at those words. Steve felt all the tension leave his body, like someone had pulled the drain on all his built up stress.

 _Stark's alright._

 _He's alright._

 _He's fine._

His shoulders felt lighter and his knees felt weaker. He rested his elbows on the counter and ran his hands through his hair. "That's . . . that is such a relief. Thank God — thank _you_ , Dina."

The girl flustered at that, twisting the hem of her coat. "It's nothing, don't thank me — really, it's nothing. I'm just doing what I know best. It's the least I can do for Mr. Stark after all he's done for me — and I couldn't just refuse him, I mean, that would just be awful. I could never be so cruel." She chuckled nervously, saying, "Maybe now he'll finally give me that paid internship at Stark Industries that I've been hassling him for . . ."

Steve laughed. "Even if he doesn't, I'll make sure you get one."

"Oh, wow, you're so nice — thank you, I mean. That would be so great."

"It's the least I can do," he replied. He rubbed at his eyes, then exhaled softly. _It's over,_ he told himself. _Finally._

He nodded towards the door, asking, "So, Stark's fine, then? He can leave? I'd like to get him back to his place so he can rest . . . It's been a long night." More specifically, he'd like to get Tony back to the relative safety of the heavily protected Stark Tower before any other group of psychopaths decide to chase them across Manhattan. He kept that bit to himself, though.

"Right, of course, of course, obviously. You both look like you've been through . . . a lot. You guys must be tired. Um, well, Mr. Stark is conscious, but he definitely needs rest. I did give him a small dose of painkillers, so, um, yeah, sleep would be good. Yeah. His lungs are still a little aggravated, but I'm not a doctor, so I can't really tell you what to do with that except have him get them checked out. But it's not something to worry about now, so, um, it's OK if he get checked up tomorrow."

Steve nodded, absorbing the rush of information being thrown his way. "And the arc reactor?"

The girl blinked. "The arc reac — oh! That thing in his chest, right? Yeah, it's fine, I think."

"You think . . .?" Steve repeated with a frown. "What — what do you mean, you _think_?"

Dina shrugged. "I don't know anything about that sort of technology. That's more of, um — that's more Mr. Stark's area."

Coldness writhed inside of Steve, coiling throughout his body. It was as if a cloud of dread was forming over him. Suddenly, nothing made sense. His mind was folding in on itself with memories and past conversations and previous assumptions and _questions_ — _questions — questions — questions._

His shoulder throbbed beneath the gauze. "Wait — no, no. Hold on. We came here because Stark's reactor was broken . . . we _specifically_ came here because he said _you_ had a spare reactor."

"I — I don't," She shook her head, her eyes wide with confusion. "Mr. Stark didn't — he didn't mention any of this to me. I really don't know anything about reactors . . . I'm not that sort of engineer."

Steve had to place a hand on his head, because he felt like it was going to burst. "Then what _are_ you? _Why_ are we here?"

"I'm — I'm a forensic toxicologist . . . " she said. "Mr. Stark called me because he was poisoned. He didn't mention anything about his arc reactor."

Suddenly, the weight of the world came crashing down on Steve. He had to blink half a dozen times in order to digest the information he was given.

 _Poison_?

A hurricane of turmoil rendered him absolutely speechless. All he could do was stare at Dina with perturbation. Finally, when the words untangled themselves from his throat, he faltered, "he — he was _poisoned_?"

"Yes — I thought you knew — I didn't think he'd . . . oh God, I messed up. I should have said something . . . I just assumed you knew, or at the very least he told you. I mean, you _brought_ him here!"

 _What the hell is going on?_ Steve swallowed thickly, trying to reign in his emotions. _Get it together, Rogers. Stay level headed._ He looked at Dina with hard eyes and asked, "When Stark called you, what did he say, _exactly_?"

She pulled at her fingers, "Right, well, um. He told me he needed to stop by to use my toxin scanner." She fished inside her lab pocket and pulled out the small device she had pricked Stark's finger with earlier. "It takes a sample of blood, and, well, scans for toxins. It's how I met Mr. Stark — his company had a scholarship program for —"

Steve interrupted her, voice heavy with overwrought. "Yes, that part I know. What else did Stark say?"

"He — I mean, after he said he needed my scanner, I asked him why, obviously. He didn't give me a straight answer, though. He just kept saying he needed to use it . . ."

 _Oh, good, so it's not just me he doesn't give straight answers to,_ Steve thought sardonically. He massaged his temple, "This . . .this _whole_ time . . . he was poisoned? There was nothing wrong with his reactor? He . . ."

 _Lied_ , his mind supplied mercilessly.

Dina nodded, biting her lip. "It was . . .well, I don't want to make you feel worse but it was pretty bad. Whatever was in his system, it's not known — it was, like, a homemade poison. It had elements of potassium cyanide and methanol, um, but I couldn't pin it down to one singular toxin. It was a low dosage, though, so it wasn't _immediately_ lethal. By the time you brought him here . . . his kidneys and lungs were starting to fail."

"He was dying." Steve stated.

She nodded slowly, sadly. "But if it's any consolation, um, I was able to administer the antidote just in time."

"And if it weren't just time?"

She cleared her throat. "Oh . . . well — um, his respiratory system would have shut down . . . and he would have . . . died . . . "

"Died," Steve repeated, head shaking in bewilderment. His mind was a haze of confusion, and he felt disorientation hit him at the back of the head. "He could have died — he _was_ dying, and this whole time I thought — this whole time _he made me think_ — _God_."

He stepped back from the counter, his insides quaking with incredulity. _He lied to me, he lied to me, he lied to me, he lied to me._ He placed the palm of his mouth over his mouth in attempt to reign in his emotions.

 _He lied_ —

— _to me._

"But why?" Steve wondered aloud. _Why would he lie? About something like_ this _? What did he salvage by withholding this kind of information? What was the_ point _?_

Steve needed to sit down. Or run ten miles. Or scream. Or hit something.

Dina assumed he was specifically asking her and replied hesitantly, "Maybe he thought . . .I don't know . . . maybe he thought it wasn't serious . . . ?"

"No," Steve said distractingly. "He definitely knew it was serious..." _But he still kept it from me. He downplayed it._

Steve brought his hand down, curling it into a solid fist.

Stark had said it was an arc reactor malfunction — _how can I be so stupid?_ _There was no way Stark would neglect to notice a problem with his reactor without resolving it immediately_ —

— _There was no way Stark wouldn't be prepared for any contingency when it came to his reactor_ —

— _There was_ absolutely no way _Stark would willingly give away one of his reactors, old or new, to a teenage girl on a whim_ —

The more these realizations hit Steve, the more his dismay turned to rage.

Steve's nails dug into the palm of his hand. _I should have realized how absurd his reasons were_ — _but I didn't. I believed him. He fed me those damn lies by the spoonful and I just sat there and ate it._

Steve's narrowed eyes looked at Dina. "When did it start?" He asked. _When did the lies start?_

Dina played with the ring on her finger. "I can't tell you exactly . . . I don't know. But I can tell you it was before he threw up. Um, I checked his arms and neck and there were no puncture wounds, and since you're not showing symptoms, that rules out it being airborne, so . . . um . . . it had to administered orally, that's why he regurgitated . . . because, you know, throwing up helps eliminate the toxins, which was pretty smart of him to remember."

Steve snorted without mirth. "Yeah, smart."

He had more questions on the tip of his tongue, threatening to come out, when suddenly he felt a presence directly behind him. He started, hastily turning around, body tense and ready for whatever other danger happened to be behind him.

But it wasn't anything of danger. It was simply lanky, bespectacled man. He was looking from Steve to Dina with obvious discomfort. "Uh," he held up a small piece of paper. "I have a prescription . . . ?"

Dina expression changed instantly, teeth gleaming as she stretched out a wide smile. "Oh! Of course! One second, sir, I'll be right with you."

She ushered Steve to come behind the counter. When he approached her, she turned her back on the customer and whispered to Steve, "I'm sorry, you're going to hate me, but I _really_ need you guys to leave. I'm really sorry, I know this sounds rude, but if my manager sees you guys, I'll definitely get fired. Trust me, I'm all about helping you guys and all, but, um, I need this job." She pointed towards the open door that led to the backroom, saying, "There's a back exit inside, to the right that you can use. Again, I'm _really_ sorry. I wish I could help more."

"Actually," Steve began. "There is a way for you to help." When Dina's only response was a blink of confusion, Steve elaborated, "Stark mentioned that you bought a car with that scholarship money you won . . ."

* * *

(3)

* * *

Steve reentered the backroom with a silence that resonated off the walls. His hardened eyes landed on that insufferable pink lounge chair — and its occupant, who Steve did _not_ want to look at right now.

Stark was sitting up on the seat, fiddling with the makeshift I.V line that connected to his forearm. When Steve walked in, he picked up his head, and their eyes met. There were bags under his eyes that were as dark as swelling bruises.

As much as Steve tried to avoid noticing, Stark looked absolutely horrendous, but at least he wasn't fighting for each breath. His eyes were glassy, his face was colorless, his skin was damp, and his expression was unreadable — and yet, anger overtook worry in Steve's mind.

They held each other's gaze for one terse minute, neither saying a word. Steve felt all sorts of emotions flaring inside his head, the only external indication that he was feeling them showing through his hard eyes.

Steve broke the silence. "Let's go," he ordered, his voice as hard as steel. He moved to the desk, opened the drawer, and pulled out a ring of keys. He clutched it in his hand and walked toward the back exit, refusing to look at Stark.

 _He lied to me._

He pushed open the doors hard, slamming them against the walls. The sun peered at him from the horizon, its rays zigzagging through the buildings as it announced the early hours of the morning with orange and red. Steve didn't bother to see if Stark had followed him out. He didn't care. He was angry and hurt and resentful and just plain _furious._

He pressed the button on the remote key, and a car across the street made a small honking noise, headlights blinking twice. As he was crossing the street, he heard the doors he had just exited open, although not as forcefully as he had opened them. _So, he did follow,_ Steve thought detachedly.

Steve all but threw himself inside the car, slamming the front door shut. He pushed the key into the ignition and the car rumbled underneath him. _Mercedes,_ Steve thought, regarding the metal insignia at the center of the steering wheel. _At least that's still the same._

The passenger seat's door opened, and Stark took his seat beside Steve without a word. Both men sat in silence, staring ahead at the car parked ahead of them, their headlights reflecting off the car's rear.

When the silence became suffocating, Stark spoke first; "Where are we going?"

But Steve acted first; he slammed his fist onto the steering wheel so hard, the car honked and the leather dented. Stark started violently, jumping in his seat.

"Poison!" Steve shouted at him, his filter all but forgotten as words tumbled out of his mouth before he could even think them. "You were _poisoned!_ This whole time — _this whole damn time,_ you've been _lying_ to me!"

The air was stifling as neither said a word. Steve grit his teeth at Stark's silence and continued, "Dina told me, Stark. She told me there was _nothing_ wrong with your reactor, she told me you've _never_ given her a reactor, she told me you were _dying_! Lie after _lie!"_

Steve curled his fist even tighter as Stark maintained his silence, refusing to look at him. Another fist came down on the steering wheel, bending it further. " _Say something!"_

"What do you want me to say, Rogers?" Stark shot back, voice raised. "You want me to admit to my _mistakes?_ Want me to get down on my knees and beg for forgiveness? Tell you that I was wrong, that I'm _sorry?_ Huh? Well, _tough._ "

Steve's eyes narrowed at his patronizing tone. "The hell is that supposed to mean?"

"It means I _knew_ what I was doing," Stark hissed. "I'm not a fucking child that broke a vase and hid the pieces behind a curtain. I _knew_ what I was doing, alright? I did what I had to do."

"Did what you had to do?" Steve repeated incredulously. "Is that what you call lying to me and stringing me along like a damn dog?"

This time, Stark met his furious eyes. "I told you not to follow me — _no one_ told you you had to do anything! Why the hell are _you_ getting so uptight about this?"

His shoulder was aching again — throbbing. "Because you _lied to me,_ Stark! Because you were _dying_ and didn't even have the decency to tell me!"

"I had it handled until you decided to stick your nose into my business."

" _How_?" Steve demanded. "How was _any of this_ handled!? Tell me that!"

"Let me ask you something, Rogers," Stark began vehemently. "Suppose that I told you I was dying at the party — or better yet, suppose I told you that someone in that room had poisoned me. What would you have done?"

Steve opened his mouth but Stark cut him off quickly. "I'll tell you. You would have _overreacted_. You would have turned on your sacramental hero-complex and caused a whole scene that would have put _everyone_ in that room in danger."

"You don't know that —"

"No, I _do_ know that," Stark retorted immediately. "I know that because, _one_ , I'm a fucking genius, I know how to read people, and _two_ , this isn't my first rodeo. Believe it or not, Cap, people _don't like me_ , and they're always more than willing to try and kill me the first chance they get. Poison? Unoriginal, but they get an A for effort."

"Then let me ask _you_ something," Steve said slowly. "Suppose I didn't come with you. Suppose I _listened_ to you and went back to the party, and just looked the other way, like you wanted me to." Steve paused for effect, eyes searching Stark's. "You wouldn't even have made it _into_ the car."

"Don't be so damn dramatic," Stark responded instantly. "I knew what I was doing. I _had_ a plan, before you came along and fucked it up."

"A plan," he repeated with a sardonic expression.

"Yes, a _plan."_ Stark scowled. "Unlike you, _I'm_ not a shit driver. I could have made in to Dina in half the time you took."

"Those people would have shot you _dead_ the minute you got on the highway and you know it, Stark!"

Stark huffed a mirthless chuckle at that. " _Please._ Those little pricks didn't know what they were doing. They were amateurs at best."

Steve loosened his grip on the steering wheel. The leather had a deep imprint from where his fingers had curled around it. He inhaled deeply, feeling a strange mix of calm and fury. He narrowed his eyes at Stark, saying slowly, "I thought you said you didn't know who those people were."

Tony at least had the decency to look cornered. "I _don't_ know who they are."

Steve eyes were now slits. Tony fingers twitched a briefly, but he continued through his agitation, "the hell, Rogers, I said I _don't know,_ alright? They're probably working for the people who poisoned me — finishing the job or some shit. Why the hell do you think I wanted to get out of that party so discreetly? They would have pounced on me the moment they saw me showing symptoms. Maybe they wanted me dead, maybe they wanted me alive; _who knows._ This shit happens."

"Then you _do_ know who poisoned you," it was more of a statement than a question.

"It's like talking to a fucking wall!" Stark bellowed, hands running through his hair frantically. "I don't know, OK, Steve? _I_ — _don't_ — _know._ I don't know who wanted to kill me because _everyone_ wants to kill me, do you understand? The poison was in my drink, and I had _a lot_ of drinks in my hand tonight. It could have been _anyone_! It could have been Johnson, pissed that I kept shooting down his bill. It could have been one of the Litmean brothers, bitter that I wasn't giving them a higher offer. _Hell,_ it could have been the fucking President for all I know — he needs a scapegoat for the Battle of New York, and what better person than Iron Man himself?"

"That doesn't make sense —"

" _Yes it does!_ Sorry to break it to you, Cap, but we're living in a _fucked up_ world. Nobody here is united under the same cause like you and your boy scouts were back in the good ol' 40s — it's every man for himself here."

Steve spoke through his clenched teeth. "That's _not_ true — What I'm trying to get across to you is that if you had only just asked for help, none of this would have happened. You're too paranoid, Stark!"

Hand on his forehead, Tony let out a pessimistic laugh, chest heaving as he ranted, "And you're too naive! I've been living in this world _much_ longer than you have, kiddo, and let me tell you, there's _no such thing_ as help. _No one_ helps anyone without some ulterior motive. You can't trust a fucking soul down here."

"How can you _say_ that?" Steve asked disbelievingly.

"Easily," Stark shot back. "With shit load of references to back me up."

A beat passed. Steve worked his jaw before asking, slowly, calmly, "Is that why you lied to me?" Stark looked away, breaking eye contact. Steve continued, "You don't trust me?"

The question hung in the air like an ominous cloud. Stark's hand twitched in reaction, but he refused to look Steve in the eye. The car felt smaller as Steve waited for an answer, the confined space feeling even more stifling than it already was.

Stark kept his eyes ahead. "Do you really want the answer to that?"

Steve didn't think he would, but he actually did consider Stark's question for a short moment. However, the moment he contemplated it was the same moment he realized his answer. "Yes — Yes, I do. You know why, Stark? Because we're a _team._ I know you don't _'play well with others',_ and I know we started off on the wrong foot, but we're still a _team_. And if we want to be a good team, then we need to _trust each other._ I've never given you any reason to mistrust me, or to think I had something up my sleeve. Believe it or not, _I trust you_ — I trust you, Tony, and I'd have thought you had trusted me, too. But I guess I was wrong."

"Well, whoop dee _fucking_ doo, Captain America is _such_ an accepting guy. If only _everyone_ could have the same amount of credence as you have, if _only_ " Stark laughed morbidly. "But, sadly, we don't. No one does. And guess what? You _are_ wrong. You're dead wrong. I _don't_ trust you. Is that what you wanted to hear? The big confession? Here it is for you again: _I — don't —trust — you!"_

"Stark —"

"No, no — isn't this what you wanted? You want to know why I lied to you? Why I didn't tell you I was poisoned? Here you go; it's because I don't trust you, Cap. I just don't. I can't help it." He tapped at his head insistently. "It's built in, I can't turn it off. Automatically, I know I can't trust you; you might be the nicest guy out there, halo and wings and everything, but I know — I know that doesn't last long. Sooner or later — eventually, you'll just fuck me over. They _always_ do."

"Calm d —"

"And I've tried the whole trusting thing," Tony jabbed incessantly, hands clenching and unclenching relentlessly. "I've tried it, Cap, believe me, I did — _never_ produced happy results for me. I _always_ got screwed over. I got screwed over when Fury wanted to use the Tesseract to make weapons, screwed over when Rhodey took my suit, screwed over when Romanoff spied on me —"

"Tony —"

"And I got _fucked_ over when Obie had me kidnapped by fucking _terrorists_ ," Stark let out a strange sound; it was like a mix of a laugh and a gasp. "That one's my favorite — the icing on the whole shit flavored cake. Can you _imagine_? A guy you knew your _whole_ life, a guy you looked up to, who practically raised you and treated you like _a son_ — and all he wanted was my company — to have me out of the picture!" He let out that strange noise again. "He had me _tortured_ — he tried to kill me — and I trusted him —"

"Tony, _breathe,"_ Steve insisted.

" _Fuck,"_ Stark was gasping now, eyes wide and wild. His hands flew to the door handle, pulling on it desperately. It didn't budge. "Unlock the doors."

"Just listen to me, Tony —"

"Unlock the _fucking door, Rogers!"_

Steve hands were on his door now, pressing the buttons that he hoped would unlock the doors. A click sounded, and Stark pushed through his door, stumbling on his footing the moment he touched the ground. He lost his balance, toppling to the ground, his hand maintaining its grip on the door handle.

"Tony!" Steve was outside in an instant, stepping around the car and onto the sidewalk. Tony was collapsed on the ground, his free hand clutching his chest, gasping desperately as if there wasn't enough air in the world to fill his lungs.

Steve kneeled in front of the trembling man. Stark was wheezing so quickly Steve wasn't sure he was actually intaking anything.

" _Breathe,_ Tony," he said firmly. But Stark didn't seem to hear him. His eyes were roaming all over the place, everywhere but on Steve.

Steve frowned. He brought hand up, fluttering over Stark's shoulder, but the near contact made Tony flinch violently, back hitting the car. "I — I don't — _fuck_ —"

"Tony, look at me. _Relax._ Breath — just _breath,"_ Steve pleaded, but Stark just gasped and hiccuped and shook.

And then suddenly, it wasn't Stark that sat in front of Steve, vulnerable and trembling and afraid. It was Bucky.

It was Bucky, who for days wouldn't allow anyone to touch him after he'd been rescued from the H.Y.D.R.A base.

Bucky, who would wake up at odd hours of the night, screaming and fighting out of vivid nightmares.

Bucky, who lashed out so violently when the medics tried to hold him down during an examination that Steve had to be called in to calm him down.

Steve's own breath caught in his throat at the sudden rampage of memories. _Where did that come from?_ But his spontaneous thoughts had already made their impression. His mind made the connection with the past and the present, and Steve felt the déjà vu wrap itself around him like a cloak.

"Tony," Steve said firmly. " _Stark_."

When Tony's bloodshot eyes found his, Steve raised a palm. "I need you to listen very carefully, alright? I need you to follow my hand. When I raise it, I want you to inhale as deeply as you can, and when I drop it, I want you to exhale. Ready?"

Steve raised his hand up slowly, leveling it with his chin. Stark's eyes followed it, but his breathing maintained its erratic pace. "Come on, Stark, _focus._ Up is inhale, down is exhale. In and out. One more time."

He let his hand fall slowly, and this time Stark responded. He shakily breathed out, teeth clattering as he did so. His eyes remained on Steve's hand.

"Good. One more time, inhale." Steve raised his hand and Stark sucked in a lungful of air, shoulders shaking.

Memories assailed his mind again. _Come on, Bucky, just breath. You're fine_ — _you're OK. No one's gonna hurt you but yourself if you don't breath_ — _There, that's it. Just inhale and exhale. In and out, in and out._

Steve dropped his hand, and Stark breathed out. He raised it, and an inhale replied. Down, exhale. Up inhale.

"I never did get to tell you that story about Nat, did I?" Steve suddenly said. Stark didn't answer him. His eyes remained glued on Steve's moving hand.

"It happened a few months ago," Steve began. Stark exhaled. "Nat, Clint and I were all down at the shooting range S.H.I.E.L.D had set up in its base. Clint was doing some target practice with his bow, and Nat and I were sitting and watching, having lunch. I think it was Thai food, I don't remember specifically. I just remember it had a lot of seasoning."

He raised his hand and Stark inhaled. "Anyway, we were pretty much just lounging around, not really doing anything productive. Then, Clint had this _brilliant_ idea."

Stark's eyes darted toward Steve, the blatant sarcasm in his voice obviously catching his attention. He dropped his hand and Tony breathed out. "He said, ' _why don't we test your reaction time, Steve? Let's see how good your reflexes are'._ I didn't want to, because I knew Clint's idea of testing my reaction time was shooting me with as many arrows as he possibly can. But Nat bullied me into it, so I agreed."

Hand up, inhale. "I stood on one side of the range while Clint stood on the other. Nat was on the corner, drinking her soda, watching. Clint had these special round rubber arrowheads that were supposed to just bounce off whatever they hit that he decided to use on me. He assured me they wouldn't hurt — but they did. And they hurt. A _lot._ " Steve chuckled a little at the memory. "What I found out was either I have awful reaction time or Clint is just _too_ good of a marksman."

Hand down, exhale. "So Clint is shooting his arrows at me one by one, and one by one I'm getting hit. I couldn't dodge _any_ of them. But then, the weirdest thing happened. I don't know if it was from the food or what, but right when Clint let an arrow fly from the string — I sneezed."

Tony's eyebrows rose and Steve chuckled, continuing. "I sneezed so hard that I doubled over, and the arrow _missed_ me. It flew right above my head. I didn't even know he had shot it. Nat almost choked on her soda from laughing so much. I think some of it came out of her nose, too."

Tony snorted, dropping his hand from its place on the door's handle, letting it lay on the cold, cement ground. "I bet Barton was pissed," he murmured.

Steve laughed. "His face was priceless," he agreed. He dropped his hand as well. Stark's breathing had regained its normal tune and Steve let out a lengthy sigh. He moved from his place on the sidewalk and sat himself besides Stark, letting his back rest against the humming car.

Stark dropped his face into his hands, a ragged huff pushing through his fingers. They sat in silence like that, neither saying a word, basking in the early morning sun. Stark's controlled breathing was the only sound that filled the air.

Steve reached into his pocket and pulled out the box of gauze. Tony eyed him as he held up the roll, brows raised. Steve motioned toward his head. "It's bleeding again," he elaborated. The gash on the side of Stark's head had let out a new, thin trail of blood on top of the dried one that caked his temple.

Tony didn't say anything. He simply pursed his lips and nodded tiredly. Steve unrolled the gauze and carefully wrapped it around the man's head.

"I told Dina you'd give her an internship, by the way." Steve began.

Tony snorted. "Let me guess. She wants a paid one."

"She deserves it. She's a good kid."

His eyes were faraway, gazing at the buildings without actually seeing them. "Yeah."

"She told me this wasn't the first time this happened to you — that it wasn't the first time she had to help you out."

Tony didn't say anything at first. H his his fingers along the gritty, cement floors, collecting dirt and grime. He shrugged idly, saying, "It's not like she has a choice. I control her funding." He sighed, eyes on the sidewalk. "I would just buy the patent off of her — if it didn't give Stark Industries a bad name. The minute the media sees I'm investing in toxicology, every newspaper will have the words _chemical warfare_ as its headlines. Can't have that."

"That's why you gave her the scholarship. So she's indebted to you? You helped her so she _has_ to help you?"

"Go ahead. Call me a hypocrite." Exhaustion painted Stark's face with dull colors. Shoulders slumped, the man simply looked tired, and Steve couldn't pinpoint whether he was from the night's events or from the conversation. He brought a hand up to rub his eyes, but Steve swatted it away.

"Don't you think she's helping you because she _wants_ to help? Not because she owes you anything?"

Tony picked up his head, shooting Steve a wary look. "Is that what _you're_ doing?"

Steve frowned. He finished the third loop and tore the gauze from the roll, stuffing the tail underneath the bandage. He pocketed the remaining gauze and stared into Stark's eyes as sincerely as possible. "I don't want anything from you. I just want to help."

A bird chirped from overhead, and a pigeon landed on the sidewalk in front of them, pecking the ground. Stark brought up a hand and felt his bandaged head, staring at the bird as it searched for food.

He didn't say anything for a long time. When the bird flew away, he murmured, "You said before that I'm paranoid. And you're right." Stark dragged his hands down and onto his knees, saying softly, "I _am_ paranoid. I know I am. But I can't help it. It's not something I can just turn off. I'm just fucked up like that. You're a good guy, Steve. I know that. But another part of me knows that when the opportunity calls for it, you'll just throw me under the bus."

"I won't. . ."

"I _know_ that!" Stark snapped, but he rightened himself immediately, hands curling on his knees. He took a shuddering breath, calming himself. "Don't you get it? _That's_ the problem. I know you're not out to get me, but I can't help but think that you will. I just can't." Stark chuckled sadly. "It's crazy, right? I was so paranoid when I realized I was poisoned, for a second, I actually thought that _you_ might have poisoned me."

Steve frowned sadly. "Tony. . ."

"But, see, that's the thing. I _know_ you didn't. Deep down, I know you didn't do it. But I couldn't shut off those damn warning bells inside my head. All these scenarios just kept running through my head: maybe S.H.I.E.L.D put you up to it? Maybe someone paid you to pass me the drink? Maybe someone's blackmailing you to do it? None of them made sense, but at the same time, they _all_ made sense."

He shook his head, eyes to the sky, laughing sadly, "I'm so fucked up."

Steve's insides gave a cold shudder at hearing Stark's broken voice. He sat up straighter, looking at him intensely. "You're not," Steve said resolutely. "After what you've been through, this is probably the most normal thing about you."

Stark snorted, cracking a small smile. "That's one way of looking at it."

Softly, Steve continued, saying, "I want you to trust me, Tony. I want you to feel like you can trust me. But I won't force you." He paused, adding, "If you don't want to trust me, that's fine. But I'll never give you a reason to mistrust me. I won't stop helping you when I can."

Tony said nothing for a long time. Then, thickly, he asked, "Why?"

"Because there are somethings people shouldn't go through alone," Steve replied without hesitation, fixing Tony with an unshakeable stare. "What happened today was something you _shouldn't_ have had to deal with alone. When I was waiting for you inside the pharmacy, I kept thinking about what would have happened if I didn't come with you. What I said earlier, about you not being able to even make it into the car if I wasn't with you? I didn't say that just to antagonize you, and you know it." He placed a hand on Stark's shoulder, squeezing it affably. "We're a _team_ , Tony. That means we look out for each other."

A beat passed. Tony broke eye contact, looking toward the building. The muscles in his jaw jumped as he swallowed thickly. Steve kept his hand on his shoulder, feeling the tremblings beneath it. Then, Tony looked at him, the corner of his mouth tipped upward in a tiny smirk. "You're an _insufferably_ nice guy, Steve. You know that?"

Steve laughed, a warm smile crossing his features to match Stark's grin. "I get that a lot," he chuckled, shaking his head. He sighed, looking around, then gingerly stood up off the ground, extending an arm down. Stark looked at it for a moment, then took it, and Steve hauled him up.

He gave Tony an appraising look, then said solemnly, "I know I can't make you trust me immediately. I know that. But will you at least let me try?"

Tony licked his lips, nodding. "Sure, Cap."

With those two words, Steve felt all the distress in his body simmer into nothingness. The uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach was nothing more than air. The tension in his shoulders drained itself, and his mind felt notably more at east. He patted Tony on the shoulder, just had the man had done so many times earlier at the party. "Thank you," he said with a genuine smile. Tony returned it.

Steve took a step, motioning to the car, and said with eminent relief in his voice. "Alright. Let's go to the hospital."

Stark started at that. "Wha — the _hospital_?" He glared at Steve. "Why? I'm fine!"

Steve rolled his eyes. "Tony, you were _poisoned._ You need to get your stomach pumped."

"I'm _fine_! Dina fixed me."

"Dina's not a doctor and you know it."

"Fine — then let me drive at least."

Steve laughed, walking over to the driver's seat, pulling the door open. "I don't think so."

Stark groaned. "Steve, come _on._ No offense, but you're a shit driver!"

"How is that not offensive?" Steve wondered aloud, taking his seat. "And I'm a great driver."

Reluctantly, Stark pulled the passenger seat open and sat down with a childish huff. "Great driver my _ass._ Let's count all your driving offenses, shall we?" He brought a hand up and began ticking off each finger. "You went a hundred miles over the speed limit, you never turned on _any_ of your turn signals, you crossed a red light — oh, and let's not forget, _you drove into an alleyway and parked illegally."_

Steve buckled his seatbelt, "Minor details." He switched the car's gear from _Park_ to _Drive_ and rolled the car onto the street.

Stark groaned again, but loudly this time, fully aware of his loss. He put his own seatbelt on with a huff, eyeing Steve. "Fine, since you're so _hell-bent_ on it. You can drive. But I won't promise you that I'll be well-behaved at the hospital. I've been known to be a difficult patient, and I have to keep up that reputation."

Steve stopped at a traffic light, grinning at Stark's immaturity. "How about we strike a deal, then?"

That caught Tony's attention. "Yeah?"

"If you promise not to be difficult in the hospital, and you listen to the doctors _without_ complaint," Steve began. "Once they release you, I'll take you to see the Brooklyn Bridge."

Stark outright laughed at that, but it wasn't a strained or mirthless laugh like his earlier ones. It was a genuine, blissful laugh that softened his features. "Sounds good," Tony grinned. The light changed to green, Steve laughed, and he drove forward.

* * *

 **(END)**

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 **A/N:** reviews and helpful critique are greatly appreciated! As this is my first fic on this site, I'm thirsty for feedback from you all, to see if you enjoyed my writing, because I have other works in the mix. Happy Ramadan to any Muslim readers, and also Happy Father's day!


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